The Belle and the Blade
by thewriteday
Summary: When there are so few left in the world, how hard is it to trust one person with your life? Involves minor spoilers for the first half of season 3 and then a complete departure.
1. Chapter 1

This chapter takes place during Season 3 Episode 5, Say the Word. All things Walking Dead are borrowed - I own nothing.

* * *

She'd never had kids, but she imagined this was what it would have felt like when the principal called a parent in to report on misdeeds.

Andrea stood disbelieving in the Governor's makeshift office, trying her best to defend her wary friend.

"Why would you have captive biters?" She asked.

"There's a good reason," he began as he walked away, "and I don't wanna go into it right now."

There was something to that. Something in his practised gait as he paced away, something thickening in his drawl. Not a lie of course, but a concealment.

"Okay," she wanted to pursue the matter, but he quickly ran over her track of thought.

"Point is, I tried to talk to her about it and she pulled a sword on me. Held it to my throat." He paused and eyed her from toe to head. "Can't imagine that surprises you," he added with a little smile.

Andrea considered his comfortable posture. For someone who'd just had his life threatened – and if Michonne had one iota of intention behind her blade, he surely had – he seemed oddly at ease. Perhaps that was merely his way, to instill a sense of calm in those around him. It could be that was what had cemented his leadership role. But still, it wasn't right to be _so _serene.

It irked her a little. It was so different from the way her old friends had been. So different from the way Michonne always was. Of course, Michonne's personality swung the other way: ever-cautious, ever-painfully-on-edge. But at least that had kept them safe. She never felt like Michonne was lying to her. But both the Governor and her quiet friend had one thing in common: they each kept many things hidden away from sight. And how was she to trust either of them if they couldn't share the truth?

"She wouldn't do that unless she felt threatened." Andrea replied.

"She makes people uncomfortable." The Governor said.

_She makes__** you**_ _uncomfortable._ Andrea thought.

"Some people want her to leave and I don't want that. It's ugly out there and it's gettin' worse every day but," he hesitated. "She put my back against a wall here."

Andrea blinked.

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying, what works out there doesn't work in here. Ya know, we're not barbarians." He said as he wiped at his mouth.

She was feeling more and more uncomfortable as the conversation went on. She felt pulled between two points: her point of origin, Michonne, and this new point, this new place. It was funny to think of Michonne as something to do with her origin, but it felt true. The woman she'd come to Woodbury with was her only light post in the dim landscape of this new world. She was the marker by which Andrea had come to guide herself in the past months. She'd felt safer with this one woman than she ever had with anyone else.

At the same time, she ached for Woodbury's normality, its sense of the past. Being there felt like reaching into the life that came before, where she'd had friends and a job and a home and a sister. She'd long since let go of Amy, as much as she could anyway, but she still couldn't part with the idea that maybe everything could be a little more normal again.

But that wasn't the only thing that kept her in Woodbury. Besides the oddly charming Governor, Andrea was plainly curious. There was something about the town, perhaps several things, that were ferreted from view. There were inconsistencies: things she felt plucking at the edges of her senses but hadn't been drawn out into plain view.

So when she went to talk to Michonne about the little B&E adventure, she felt herself making excuses to stay.

"We gotta talk," She began, but Michonne was quickly overrunning her words.

"We gotta go." Michonne said firmly, springing out of her tightly coiled position as soon as Andrea was through the door. Michonne began stuffing things into a green canvas bag.

"The Governor told me what happened. Michonne, you can't do things like this. You're freaking people out," Andrea said. She wanted the tone to come off light, like a small joke. But her worry for her companion seeped into her voice. "You're freaking _me _out."

"The Northeast wall is guarded by some girl. We can escape there after dark." Michonne said as she unceremoniously thrust the canvas bag into Andrea's unwilling arms.

"We are _not _prisoners here." Andrea said firmly as she dropped the bag back onto the bed.

"No one who comes here leaves!" Michonne said. Her eyes were wild with what looked to Andrea like fear. She was more afraid of Woodbury and its inhabitants than she had ever shown in the face of any walker. It scared Andrea.

"What are you talking about?" Andrea said incredulously. "It's safe! There's food, there's shelter, there's people for god's sake."

Michonne was speaking before the blonde had even finished.

"That's what they show you. But you can't leave unless they _make _you!" She said desperately.

"You are not making _any _sense." Andrea replied. "Meesh, maybe you need to sit for a minute." She tried.

"You need to trust me." Michonne said, searching her friend's eyes for any sense of uncertainty, for any sense of the wrongness of this place. For something she could appeal to.

"And you need to give me more to go on." Andrea said. Because that was what it boiled down to. There was not enough evidence for the case Michonne was trying to make. If either of them were going to make any accusations or any rash plans to leave, Andrea needed more proof that it was the right decision. "We got a good thing going here."

Michonne narrowed her eyes in confusion.

"I thought this was temporary."

"And I think we need this. I want to give this place a real shot."

"I tried." Michonne said firmly.

"Breaking into houses?" Andrea said. Michonne turned her back to the woman. "That is not _trying_. That is sabotaging!" Andrea finished.

Michonne turned back around, exhaling deeply as she tried to control her anger. She wanted so badly to make Andrea see reason but she could not force down the bubbling of feeling inside her. She needed an outlet. The walkers earlier that day had been a satisfying release of tension, but it was not enough. Not for the amount of strain she felt in this place.

She met Andrea's eyes again and put her hands out calmly.

"This place is _not _what they say it is." She said slowly. She hoped that if her words didn't communicate her depth of feeling, her eyes would translate some of it to the blonde. It seemed to work for a moment. Andrea's eyes connected – really connected – and she thought she saw a flicker of understanding there. The moment passed.

Michonne put her hands on her hips and dropped her eyes to the floor. She did not like giving up. It felt like a loss when she couldn't make Andrea comprehend.

"Can't you at least trust me on that?" Michonne asked, defeated.

The sadness in Michonne's voice stung Andrea. When they first met, she hadn't believed anything could hurt this woman. She seemed impenetrable, unrelenting, completely ferocious in her ability, but she had never been particularly sensitive or open.

Andrea often wondered if she'd always been that way or if she'd been someone else entirely before the walkers came. She tried with great difficulty to imagine her dark-skinned companion completely at ease, laughing and relaxed, free and uninhibited.

She thought maybe that was part of the reason she wanted to stay in Woodbury too. Part of why she wanted so badly for Michonne to embrace the new arrangement.

It was because she wanted to see Michonne happy, truly happy, and truly at peace. She didn't think that was possible if they fled out into the wilderness again.

She reached out a hand and put it under Michonne's chin, lifting her gaze to meet her own.

"Of course I can." Andrea soothed. Her eyes dropped to Michonne's lips for a moment. She brushed the pad of her thumb lightly over the bottom lip. Michonne inhaled slightly and the sensation of the air pulled Andrea out of her distraction. She dropped her hand and found Michonne's eyes again, giving her a soft smile.

Michonne's gaze was hard, though mere moments before, when Andrea hadn't been looking, those eyes had been soft, even a little dreamy.

"I worry about you, Meesh. That's all." Andrea said.

Michonne had felt something shift between them in the past few months, but she hadn't been able to pin it down yet. She'd let herself care about this woman, really give a damn about her, and once she had, it was easy to fall for her, to want her more than she reasonably should.

Of course Andrea had spilled her brain to Michonne early on about every bad relationship she'd been in before and since the collapse. But Michonne had said little, afraid to bring up her history of loving both women and men. She didn't need Andrea reading more closely into her careful movements, her slightly too-long touches, or her loss of words when she caught glimpses of Andrea's bare body.

She was pretty sure Andrea had picked up on it anyway. The blonde had worn even warmer smiles as time went on. She'd spotted Michonne checking her out a couple times and given her an eyeful. On purpose. And as much as Michonne tried to ignore it at first, it had built and built.

And then they'd found Woodbury. Or rather, it had found them. And so had the Governor. Michonne had darkened immediately when she'd sensed the falseness of the place, but she'd been doubly irked when the Governor flirted with Andrea.

At this moment, standing in their bedroom in this strange place, this counterfeit oasis, Michonne wanted to kiss her. But the warrior could not let her defenses down too long. If she kept her guard, she may get herself and Andrea out of this mess yet.

"Then let's go. We can put a few miles behind us before nightfall." Michonne said.

* * *

Andrea avoided making eye contact with Merle on the way down the street, but he noticed them anyway.

"Hey, hey, hey, girls! Where y'all off to in such a hurry? Huh?" He asked frantically.

_Now, why would he care? _Andrea thought as she slowed to a halt and turned around. Michonne stopped too and grabbed Andrea's shoulder, spinning her back towards the exit. The warrior felt she was already losing her hard-won ground.

"Come on now, y'all are breakin' my heart runnin' away like that." Merle called out as he caught up to them. The fading sun gleamed off of his metal arm. Michonne's hand itched to slice off the stump a little higher.

"We're leaving." She said, controlling her voice as much as she could.

"It's almost curfew; I'd have to arrange an escort." Merle offered. "I mean, the party's still goin' on!"

Andrea stiffened. Michonne raised her chin expectantly at him.

"All right," he said after considering their expressions. "Wait here a sec." Then he ambled over to the gated wall.

Michonne didn't tell her friend, "I told you so," but watched her approach the wall for answers.

"The Governor told us we were free to come and go whenever we liked." Andrea said.

"Sweetheart, nothin' personal here, but you're gonna have to step back." Merle replied.

Andrea retreated reluctantly.

"See? There's always a reason why we can't leave yet." Michonne spoke low out of Merle's earshot. Andrea's mind began to race. She hated the thought of being on the run again, of trying to escape someplace.

The Northeast exit – that was what Michonne had said. They could play content until it was dark and then they could get away if–

The guard at the top of the wall cut her off.

"Clear!" He called.

They turned towards the gate.

"Now if I was y'all, I'd find some shelter before nightfall." Merle added.

Andrea sighed in relief. Another of Michonne's assumptions with no proof. And she'd almost believed it this time. As much as she trusted the woman, she was beginning to tire of the excuses and conspiracy theories.

"They knew we were coming." Michonne growled as she shook her head. "This was all for show."

"Do you hear yourself? How would they know that and why would they bother?" Andrea asked. She wanted to shake the woman, make her see reason. But she was afraid if she touched her, she would end up kissing the woman in the middle of the street. Out of fear, out of spite, out of anger, out of any attempt to make her stay. To keep her at her side.

"Ladies," Merle called out behind her.

"Close the gates," Andrea called back.

"No!" Michonne protested.

Andrea whirled around, her anger renewed.

"I practically begged the Governor to let you stay." She said in disbelief.

"I didn't ask for that." Michonne replied breathlessly.

"You didn't have to. That's what friends do for each other."

"It goes both ways."

"So you want to run around out there, with walkers on chains, eating twigs? I mean, is that right?" Andrea wanted, _needed_ Michonne to hear how ridiculous it sounded, how futile.

"We held our own."

And that was all it took. Andrea couldn't hold back the frantic thoughts she'd been keeping from Michonne for days.

"8 months! 8 months on the road, moving place to place, scavenging, living in a meat locker. That was no life." She searched for some sign in the big brown eyes boring into hers. "I'm tired. I'm tired; I don't have another 8 months in me, not like that. And you… I…" Andrea felt herself breaking. She was trying hard to swallow the lump in her throat.

Michonne looked harder into the soft, pale face. Then she dropped her eyes to the ground. It always came to this. No one could stand to be with her, not really. This was just another person to be attached to and then to let go. It was just as painful as before, perhaps more so now that there were so few left in the world.

"What about me," Michonne said darkly.

"I'm afraid you're gonna disappear." Andrea replied in a weaker voice. "We always talked about this place didn't we? A refuge? That idea's what kept us going." Andrea sighed and searched those eyes again; the strong lines of Michonne's face, the stone expression. She grasped the woman's arm for a moment, needing some physical reminder that her friend was still here.

Michonne, for her part, felt herself melt slightly under the blonde's scrutiny. She wanted to stay together, but she couldn't remain in a place she knew was bad at the core.

She needed to shake Andrea from her comfortable tree boughs and see that the lightning was about to strike.

"Are you coming or not."

Andrea's face fell further.

"Don't do this. Don't give me an ultimatum." _Don't break my heart._ Andrea thought. "Not after everything." She didn't want to live without her. The thought that she cared for someone, anyone, that much, was a miracle within itself. And it was something she desperately wanted to hold on to.

"Are you coming, or not." Michonne repeated. If she had been a woman who cried, Michonne would have cried then, watching and listening to Andrea deny her again, abandon her, after all of the running, the waiting, after taking care of each other, after trusting each other. After it all, it amounted only to this.

_Hurt now, or hurt later. _She thought dimly. _It doesn't matter._

She took one last look at Andrea, into those stone-blue eyes offering no answer, and then stepped around her, towards the gate.

"You just slow me down anyway," Michonne said as she passed.

Her words knocked the wind out of Andrea. She couldn't breathe properly. Or think. Or move.

"Michonne!" She called out, unable to believe what was happening.

The warrior did not turn.

Andrea watched her walk into the distance through the gap in the gate.

* * *

That night in bed, after the fighting in the circle of walkers was over, Andrea felt cold even under the covers.

Her friend had been right. Maybe there wasn't some larger conspiracy, maybe there was, but the crux of the matter was that Woodbury was fundamentally wrong, no matter how right it seemed. And now Andrea was left to face it alone.

She wished Michonne was still here to share the creaking bed with. She knew her companion hadn't slept much since being here, but having her body close by had given Andrea the best sleep of her life. They'd slept close before, for heat and safety, but never in an honest-to-god bed in an honest-to-god town (or an honestly godless town, as the evidence was beginning to show). The pair of them had always hidden away somewhere with adequate cover but without much comfort.

She grabbed the pillow Michonne had rested her head on just a night before and pulled it in close to her body. She caught a whiff of the woman's dreadlocks in the fabric; not an altogether pleasant smell, but a good one because it was _hers_. And it was all she had left now.

She closed her eyes and imagined she was holding her protector, her friend, the one who'd stayed with her even when she'd been sick and useless. Even when she'd slowed her down. She wanted to hold her like she never had, as more than a friend. And as more than two women lost in the wilderness.

She wanted to hold her like they belonged to each other.

The way she'd never be able to.


	2. Chapter 2

This chapter has some straight pairing (inevitably) and potentially triggery bits. The first part is set in episode 6 - Hounded - and the rest is set in episode 7 - When the Dead Come Knocking.

* * *

She watched the kids re-enacting the events of the night before – the throws of punches in the ring. The notion itself wasn't completely savage. Andrea understood the need for an outlet. God, they'd had so many outlets in the world before, some perhaps more horrific than fist-fighting in a ring of walkers.

But she couldn't ignore that feeling of _wrong._ If this was all humans could become when the world ended, was it really worth living for? Living _with_?

If the strange pastime was all that was wrong with this place though, if that was the only thing Michonne has sensed was amiss, maybe it wasn't so bad. A nagging little feeling in Andrea's head still lingered.

"You know, you can join in. They don't bite. That's kind of the whole idea of the place." The Governor chimed with a smooth smile. He was handsome enough. Charming enough. But he was like Woodbury: there was something lurking beneath that clean façade, something Andrea couldn't place.

"Seems like you also encourage people to punch each other in the face," Andrea replied. The governor's smile fell.

"The arena?" Andrea prompted.

"Didn't like that much, huh?"

"No, not so much. But I get it." She offered. Best to keep things civil. The night's rest, what little she'd had of it, had given her a bit of room to breathe and process. "Listen, I wanted to ask you something,"

"No." He said immediately.

"Okay…" she said and started to walk away. If he wasn't up for a conversation, neither was she.

"Hold on, how do you get it?" He asked as he followed her.

"I'm not gonna tell you how to run your town."

"This is _our_ town; you stayed, you're part of this now, so tell me." He sounded desperate. She turned toward him and sighed.

"If it's an escape, I don't think it's the right one. It's brutality for fun. And I think the world's brutal enough already." She said.

"It really bothered you, huh?" He seemed to care. Or at least _sometimes_ he seemed to. But _seeming_ was all this place was. Just a fabric of impressions and false assumptions.

"But I do want to be here," Andrea looked him in the eye and hoped he couldn't see the truth buried beneath the words. She did want to stay, in a way. She needed her strength, she needed the rest, the comfort, at least for a while. And if she'd had to admit it, she liked the sense of belonging somewhere, to something, even if she knew it was only a temporary sense, and probably a mistaken one.

But if she was going to stay, she needed something, a plan of sorts, to keep her busy and challenged, to keep her sharp. And something else.

She needed a way to get out of the walls, if only for short spurts, to keep her firmly immersed in the reality outside of Woodbury.

"So what were you saying before I made you condemn our sadistic way of life?" He asked. Here was her opportunity.

"I wanna contribute. Everyone else does." She said.

"All right, we could use some help in food–" He began, but she cut him off before he could assign her to some bullshit "woman's work" role.

"I wanna work the wall. I'm a good shot, I wanna stay that way."

"Can you use a bow?"

"I can learn."

"Well I can get somebody to teach you." He replied.

She smiled. This was the opportunity she needed. It would be a welcome break, a distraction from her current state, which was not as clear and calm and accepting as it appeared. She missed her friend.

Without Michonne's constant discomforts and suspicions, she should have been more relaxed. Instead, she felt on-edge. There was the town itself, which itched to be revealed, but there was also the worry set deep in her stomach at the thought of Michonne running around in the wilderness alone.

The woman could take care of herself. Her capability was unquestionable. But Andrea remembered what the warrior had been like when they'd first started out together. Michonne had been cold, unfeeling, cut off completely from any sense of self, united only with her blade and a couple of jawless walkers. She'd barely spoken, barely slept. It had taken Andrea weeks to get her to relinquish the barest of details about herself.

Andrea didn't want her friend to become that again, to recede into a shell and forget what it was like to be with another person, what it felt like to really _be_ a person.

She wasn't sure how she was going to manage it, and it would likely be slow-going, but Andrea needed to get beyond the walls not just for her own sanity, but to see if she could find some trace of Michonne. She needed validation the woman was at least alive if not also well and safe. Selfishly she wanted to hold her, have her close by, if only for a moment. She needed the person who'd kept her alive, who'd been at her back in so many too-close calls, who'd even opened up eventually, allowing a laugh here and there at the best times. She missed Michonne's laugh. The rarity of it made it all the more rewarding. She would have done anything to hear it again.

* * *

The girl on the Northeast wall, her would-be instructor in the ways of the bow, reminded her a little of her sister. It was only natural – close in age, a bit of attitude, a knowing smirk. A sharp little reminder of the last bit of blood family she'd ever have. It was okay though. She was used to it by now. Besides, this girl was living. She had _lived_. And that fact made Andrea a little happy even if it made her sad for her own kin.

Andrea swept her eyes out over the wall and her gaze fell on an ambling form.

"Walker." She said, a little panicked. That first moment of recognition was still terrifying, no matter how many times she spotted one.

"Cool! Watch this." The girl said as she readied her bow.

The first shot ricocheted off of the creature's frame. Andrea twitched. She watched the girl reload. Michonne was right: this wall would have been easy to take advantage of for an escape.

The girl missed again. The knife burned in Andrea's hand.

"I got it," she said casually. Part of her was still the big sister, still the one who insisted on taking care of it, of superseding the younger girl's attempts at control.

"I can do it!" The girl said defiantly. When she saw Andrea clambering away, her voice became shrill and high. "We're not supposed to go over the wall!"

Andrea leapt down, barely hearing the words.

She steadied herself with a deep breath as she walked briskly, closing the distance to the walker. She easily pushed it to the ground, throwing her arm into its chest. She plunged the knife into its head and it was done. She smiled and nearly laughed as she exhaled in triumph. It felt good.

She'd been in Woodbury long enough to forget how rewarding the feeling was. The feeling of being capable and able and strong. The makeshift walls of the town, the cosy homes and camaraderie, they did not make her feel so safe as _this_ did. The knife in her hand and the exhilaration in her veins – it felt better, truer than any wall.

Besides, what good were walls if you couldn't defend them? She'd learned that early, but she'd learned it doubly from Michonne.

"What the hell was that?" The girl cried angrily.

"That is how it's done." Andrea replied proudly.

"I said I could do it. What is wrong with you? This isn't a game."

Andrea's smile faded. Suddenly she felt like a misbehaving child instead of a grown woman. _Guess I'll have to go to the principal's office for this. _She thought. _Great._

* * *

Andrea woke up in the Governor's bed late at night. She sat up slowly, careful not to wake the man beside her. She folded her legs tightly to her bare chest.

She'd made the decision – the plan – in an instant. If guarding the wall was no longer an option to her, she had to find some other way of supervising the town and its inhabitants. And what better way than to be as close as she could to the person who lorded over the place?

It had been easy enough to bed him. His desire was obvious from the moment she'd been well enough to pay attention. She glanced over at his body beneath the sheet, drenched in moonlight.

Once she'd been in his bed, another aspect of the man had come to the surface. One that scared her more than the fighting ring had. He'd started softly, gently, the way he'd kissed her in the garden. But soon his mood changed; he'd barreled into her, roughly, painfully. Every move he made was filled with mounting rage until he finally reached his release.

She hadn't slept much after he'd pulled out of her. She'd turned over and over until she gave up on rest entirely. She looked down at herself and tested the sore skin with her fingers. It would probably bruise a bit.

It was not going to be a wholly pleasant plan, but she needed to find out more about what was going on here. She tried desperately to eavesdrop on his conversations, all the while feigning ignorance, bliss, and adoration. But he was quick to conceal things from her. The obvious way he'd leave a room or send her out indicated to her that he was keeping things from her, specific things, things he knew would bother her. It only served to make her more suspicious.

She pretended not to notice or care. It would be better the longer he underestimated her. Just like so many had before. Even her old group, Rick and the rest, they'd never understood just how capable she was. This time, it could be used to her advantage.

Philip was especially careful to speak to Merle out of earshot and she knew it was these conversations she needed the content of. She thought she'd heard Michonne's name mentioned once, but couldn't hear the rest. It was unsettling and added to her sleeplessness.

The only thing she held on to, the only thing that could lull her into an eventual resting state, was the thought of a different body in her bed, one that was warm and small and strong. One that had slept next to her so many nights in so many different places. She lay down, closed her eyes, and thought of Michonne.

* * *

_They can't be real._ Michonne thought as Rick closed the cell block door. At first when he'd had asked for her name, she'd frozen. She couldn't find words to fill her mouth as she studied the details of his face.

She shook her head. Of course they were real. It was undoubtedly Andrea's group. She'd heard enough stories of their exploits to put a name to most of them.

The boy, Carl; he was Rick's son. And the man who'd called Rick away: that was Daryl. "_Madman on a motorcycle – killer with a crossbow_." Andrea's voice rung through her head. It was hard to believe that anyone related to Merle could have a lick of likability or morality. She frowned. It was strange to feel like she knew these people, as though they were characters in a book she'd read.

But she didn't know them. She had to remind herself of that. Their actions were as unpredictable to her as anything. They may have been good people when Andrea was with them, but it had been a long time since then. Many things changed. People changed. Hell, _she'd _changed in the past year, more than she ever thought possible.

For now she'd have to wait it out in yet another prison. At least this one didn't hide behind quaint storefronts and street parties. This prison didn't pretend.

She picked herself up from the ground with some difficulty and made her way over to the bars, watching the interaction of the group. The woman with short, gray hair: that was Carol. But there were people missing. The two she'd seen captured by Merle, of course, but others too. They'd lost so many and still they had retained so much humanity, so much decency. It was encouraging.

She retreated and waited for them to return to her, to ask her the inevitable questions. She cleaned off her skin with a towel, wiping off the walker blood, the sweat, the day's damage. She grabbed a smaller towel to hold to her thigh, where the bullet had grazed her. She closed her eyes for a moment and tried to picture curly blonde hair and bright eyes, her own personal nurse. Her eyes flicked open when she heard footsteps approaching.

"We can tend to that wound for you," Rick said as he strode into the room, Daryl and Herschel following close behind. "Give you a little food and water and then send you on your way. But you're gonna have to tell us how you found us. And why you were carrying formula."

Michonne stared darkly into his face. She wasn't sure how to start. She wasn't sure she _wanted_ to start.

"The supplies were dropped by a young Asian guy. With the pretty girl." She said. Rick's face fell. Herschel stood up on his remaining leg.

"What happened?" Rick asked.

"Were they attacked?" Herschel added, fear in his voice.

What could she tell them and how much? She didn't know what Daryl would do if he heard his brother's name, but considering he was armed, she thought it best to leave the one-armed psychopath out of any explanation.

"They were taken." She said finally.

"Taken? By who?" Rick ventured.

"By the same son of a bitch who shot me." She replied.

"Hey, these are our people. You tell us what happened now!" Rick said as he gripped Michonne's leg wound tightly, clamping down and eliciting a cry of pain from her lips. She jumped up, swinging her arm out to hit him away.

"Don't you EVER touch me again!" She growled.

She froze as Daryl lined his crossbow up with her forehead.

"You better start talking or you're gonna have a much bigger problem than a gunshot wound." Daryl warned.

She met his eyes. He resembled Merle only slightly, but it was enough to raise some fire in her. She hated him a little for reminding her of the crazy bastard who'd chased her through the forest.

"Find him yourself." She said coldly.

Rick recognized the fearlessness and admired her for it. He didn't want things to turn out badly. They'd lost too many people and he needed to know where Glen and Maggie were.

He put his hand to Daryl's crossbow.

"Put it down," he coaxed. He lined himself up with Michonne and looked her square in the eye, breaking her gaze from Daryl. She realized how angrily she'd been looking at the bastard's brother and dropped her eyes to the floor.

"You came here for a reason," he said quietly.

She hesitated. She knew she had to give them something.

"There's a town – Woodbury – about 75 survivors. I think they were taken there." She said.

"A whole town?" Rick asked.

"It's run by this guy, calls himself the Governor," she practically spat the name. "Pretty boy, charmin' Jim-Jones type."

Rick recalled the stories, years and years ago, about the People's Temple and its demented leader. The one that convinced his parish to drink poison.

"He got muscle?" Daryl asked.

"Pair o' military wannabes. They've armed sentries on every wall." She said.

"You know a way in?" Rick asked.

"Place is secure from walkers, but we could slip our way through." She said.

Rick's eyebrows raised. _We, _she'd said. So quickly he almost missed it.

"How'd you know how to get here?" Rick asked in disbelief and fear. If they were so easy to find, surely the Woodbury crowd would find them first.

"They mentioned a prison, said which direction it was in, said it was a straight shot." She replied.

He knew she could be lying, that she could be from this _town_ herself, sent to gain their trust and lure them out of safety. But for some reason, he trusted her.

"This is Herschel, father of the girl who was taken," he said and pointed to the white-haired man. "He'll take care of that."

She looked over at the doctor to validate. He was a little older than she'd imagined from Andrea's stories, but he looked kind enough.

She let the man tend to her wound as she silently hoped that they'd believe her and seek out Woodbury. She needed a chance to save Andrea from herself. And at present, it seemed her best chance would be with some capable backup.

Later that day, they headed out for the town, out towards the forest Michonne had trekked through.

They left the car at the side of the road, setting out on foot. Michonne was surprised at how easily Rick had trusted her, at how quickly he'd decided she was allowed to come along. But then, she figured they'd had little choice. They needed her as much as she needed them.

She was exerting more effort than usual just to get herself around. Her thigh hurt like a mother fucker as the pain pill that Herschel had slipped her began to wear off. She was worried about her mobility. Getting in would be hard enough. But getting out? If they had to make a speedy escape, she wasn't sure how far she'd get.

When they walked into the middle of a crowd of walkers, she tested her strength and speed. It was good enough for now, getting away from slowly ambling corpses, but she doubted her ability to outrun anyone that wasn't undead.

The true test would come soon enough.

* * *

When the Governor had told Andrea he needed her help, she hadn't expected _this_. He explained nothing beforehand, merely guided her to an old house near the West wall. She followed him inside and caught sight of Milton and an old man lying in a narrow bed. She wondered how the man, Mr. Coleman, had survived this long.

"You're doing us a great service," the Governor told the man before he took his leave. The words made her skin cold.

She stared blankly at Milton – Doctor Frankenstein she'd nicknamed him in her head – as he checked his watch.

"So what exactly…" she began but he cut her off quickly.

"Can you cue up the first song on the record?" He barely glanced at her.

"Sure." She said, becoming more wary by the second. She made her way to the record player and jumped when he spoke again.

"On my mark," he said.

She raised the needle and waited. Milton dragged a wooden pestle around the rim of a metal bowl, sending an eerie ringing sound throughout the room. When he was done, Andrea put the needle to the edge of the record.

"My name is Milton Mamet," the doctor began. "Please raise your right hand off the bed if you recognize any of the following statements to be true. Your name is Michael Coleman."

The old man used every bit of his strength to raise his hand just slightly.

Milton raised a picture of a woman to the man's eyes.

"You were married to Betty Coleman."

The old man raised his hand again.

"Your children were Michael Jr. and Emily."

Mr. Coleman's eyes closed in pain. He raised his hand.

"Very good." Milton said finally. He put his folder aside and Mr. Coleman reached for his hand, trying to say something. Milton put his hear closer to the man's lips.

Andrea looked on in sad suspense.

"What did he say?" She asked when Milton stood straight.

"He asked if we could keep it playing while we wait."

She didn't ask what they were waiting for. She was beginning to get the idea.

"After Mr. Coleman passes, we'll restrain him. He'll reanimate, I'll ask the questions again, record his responses – I need you to end the subject's reanimated state." Milton explained after Mr. Coleman had fallen asleep. He took a sip of his tea.

The old man's breathing was dry, shuddering. Andrea stood next to the bed and couldn't help but imagine what circumstances had parted him from his family.

"All right." She said. She didn't completely understand it, but she needed to gain trust anywhere she could. She had an odd feeling that Milton might reveal more to her than Philip ever would.

"I've been trying to determine whether trace memory and human consciousness exist after the subject has transformed," Milton explained as they sat down on either side of the bed. "But I had no baseline to work off of. Until now."

Andrea eyed the sleeping man between them.

"Prostate cancer. We didn't have the resources to treat him, so he volunteered to be the test subject. He's been very cooperative. He's a remarkable man." Milton said.

The tone of his voice irked Andrea. He sounded insincere.

"You're close?" She asked.

"We spent a lot of time together. The song, the singing bowl, the questions – we've done that a few dozen times. These are cues," he said as he gestured to the décor and various objects around the room, "that will hopefully linger in his unconscious mind even after he's died."

The answer was, no, they weren't close. Milton was as cold and methodical as a scientist could be. Completely detached and unfeeling.

Andrea thought of her last moments with Amy. She'd thought, just for a second, that even after the girl had turned, there was recognition in those clouded eyes. She'd been sure of it. And then her sister's jaw had opened, hungry and unknowing.

"There is no unconscious mind, Milton." Andrea said. "When they turn they become monsters. That's all. Whoever they once were is gone."

Milton merely nodded, as if coddling a child.

"We'll see."

She eyed him incredulously as he crossed the room.

"You haven't seen this before, have you? The transformation." Andrea asked.

Milton hesitated.

"No." He said plainly.

"No one in your family was –"

"I'm an only child. My parents died when I was young." Milton said before she could finish.

"Weren't you with anyone when everything went down?"

"I telecommuted to work. I never really–" he was cut off by a sigh from Mr. Coleman. A sigh that sounded like his last breath. Milton checked for a pulse and found none. He met Andrea's eyes and they went about restraining the old man's limbs. Andrea couldn't help but notice Milton's hands were shaking as he tried to buckle the last strap. She grabbed his hand in comfort but he shook her off.

She was beginning to wonder why the Governor had sent her here at all. Surely there were others, those he trusted, that could perform this task easily. Was her inclusion in the experimentation meant to show his trust in her or intimidate her? Or was it another method of keeping her preoccupied?

She assumed it was the latter. She'd overheard snatches of his conversation with one of the guards, something about Merle needing help with "guests," which Andrea took to mean "prisoners." When her lover had returned to the room, she'd looked a little too attentive, maybe. He'd taken her to bed immediately and asked her for this favour soon after. He must have sensed something.

After a waiting period, Andrea noticed Mr. Coleman's eyes re-open, the irises now clouded in shades of yellow and red.

"It's happening." She said. They moved quickly, re-enacting Milton's ritual – the bowl, the record, the recitation, the questions. The old man's responses were gone, his mind replaced by the monster. Milton was too blind to see it.

"I want to try again without the restraints." He demanded.

"No." Andrea said.

"We may have tethered his consciousness. We have to try!" Milton said desperately. Mr. Coleman, or what once was, snapped his teeth.

"No!" Andrea repeated. The man was losing it.

"I know what happens if the subject comes for us, that's what you're here for!" He was not going to let up. Andrea felt herself losing control of the situation. She readied her knife.

"As soon as we pull the restraints, he'll lunge." She said.

Milton ignored her and went about loosening the strap on the walker's right arm.

Andrea's knife was in Mr. Coleman's head before Milton had finished his sentence.

There was a moment of pause – the record sang out in the room, punctuated by Andrea's breathing. Milton put a hand to his throat, where the walker's fingers had gripped him. He stood suddenly.

"I think I'd like to record my findings while they're fresh." Milton said hurriedly, an obvious cue for her to leave.

"Do you need help with the body?" Andrea asked.

"I think I am perfectly capable of taking care of it, now please. Just go." He snapped at her.

She complied. She needed a drink anyway.

She poured herself one when she reached the Governor's place. It was as much to get over the events of the evening as to steel herself for what lay ahead, specifically what was to lay on top of her while she imagined she was somewhere else. He didn't seem to notice how distant she was when he fucked her. She was lucky.

She sank into his arms and closed her eyes. More than anything, she wanted to be free of this place, of his touch. But her only power here came from information, and she had none to save her yet.


	3. Chapter 3

Relies heavily on Episode 8 of Season 3, "Made to Suffer." After which, it takes a major turn from what's canon, essentially leaving the show's plot behind. More or less. (Not my characters or show of course, just borrowing.)

* * *

Chaos flooded the moonlit streets of Woodbury quickly. Sounds of gunfire sent townsfolk in every direction.

When her attempts to lead the group to the Governor's flat failed, Michonne knew she had to splinter off. They'd suspect her, sure. But she had things to do and someone to find, herself. There was an odd twist of excitement in her stomach. She was looking forward to introducing the Governor's head to his shiny wood floor.

The warrior took her chance – as soon as Maggie and Glen were rescued and safely inside another building, she peeled off of the back of the group, shutting the door behind them and moving silently down the street.

"Shots came from up there. I'm gonna check it out." Andrea said. She was afraid of what was happening, but oddly exhilarated too. It was like the walker past the wall – it was a chance to prove herself. To prove _to _herself that she had worth. Philip grabbed her arm and pulled her back.

"No, I'll handle it. Sometimes biters get in through the side fence. There's no need for anyone to panic." He said, tossing in one of his too-sly smiles.

Just as he finished speaking, a woman shouted from across the street.

"Someone help!"

"What happened?" Philip asked as they jogged over. A man was sitting on the ground, being comforted by a girl Andrea recognized: her momentary bow-instructor, Haley.

"Guys came through with guns." The man replied.

"How many?" Philip asked.

Andrea stood by as Philip questioned the man and managed the frightened villagers. She'd been with him long enough now that she could detect when he was lying. He was more afraid than he was letting on, and probably more aware of the strangers' identities too.

In the building next door, tactical arrangements were made. It wasn't until Philip turned to her that Andrea realized she was going to be sidelined. Again.

"You check on our people. Make sure they're safe, huh?" He said softly.

She hated when he referred to them as a unit. The dreaded "our" or "we" or "us." She wanted to rip his hand from her arm, push him away.

"You want me to do house calls? Make sure everyone's tucked in?" She asked bitterly.

"These guys could be holed up in one of our residences. They could be holdin' someone captive, or worse."

"Can't anyone else handle that? I've got a hell of a lot of experience that–"

He didn't wait for her to finish; her complacency was assumed.

"Thank you." He said, and continued giving out orders.

Her face burned. She hated this: being lorded over unwillingly, expected to submit just because someone else had more genitalia hanging between their legs. She didn't want to give up that easily.

"Don't you think Haley should handle the door-to-doors?" She asked.

"I need someone with some authority, to provide reassurance; I mean she's just a kid." He was trying to make her feel better, to make her feel "special." Like she was being done some favour. The only person he was doing a favour was himself. He wanted her out of the way. For what reason, she wasn't sure.

"These people have already killed one man, beaten another. I'm good with a gun, I–"

"Just do as I ask." He cut her off again.

"Sure," she said. She was a better liar than he was. Or maybe, he was just worse at paying attention.

Gunfire exploded around them as they left the building, flying forth from a cloud of smoke. Andrea fired blindly at the figures out in the cloud. _Who the hell would be attacking the settlement? Michonne?_ She thought crazily. That was absurd of course. There were multiple attackers so unless Mich had found a way of joining up with a group of survivors within days of leaving, it was unlikely she was among the invading force.

She chided herself and took off down the street. She'd lost sight of Philip, which meant he'd also lost sight of her. She headed straight for his place. She needed to take this advantage now, while she had unrestricted access to his things.

When she arrived, she felt panicked, immobilized by her own indecisiveness. She had no idea where to start looking. Her eyes went to the small collection of journals and books on his desk. She'd only found one that puzzled her so far - a small book with the name Penny written over and over in its pages. Maybe there were some hidden away in the locked drawers, some that held more of an indication of what he'd been hiding.

She eyed the weapons on his trophy rack of sorts, then the few pictures he had around the apartment. She'd noticed how much she looked like his wife before. Maybe there was more to that story.

Then her eyes fell on the door. The door that was always locked. The one the Governor was careful to ignore at all times, until he thought she wasn't looking. She'd tried it several times but couldn't get in. Not unless she wanted to break it down, which would have drawn too much unwanted attention.

But tonight, the circumstances were perfect. She could play it off as a break-in by one of the invaders.

She slammed into the door with her body, killing her shoulder, but continuing relentlessly until she had bust it open. The exhilaration had made her stronger than she'd ever felt.

The first thing she saw were the aquariums. Walker heads bobbed and twitched in the eerie, blue water. Andrea stared at them disbelievingly, disgusted.

Then she spotted them – three heads she recognized. The first two, she recognized because they'd been two of her three companions for just under a year. Michonne's walkers; the two undead men she'd never revealed the identities of. Their eyes followed her.

The third was a little harder to place for a moment. But after a minute of study, she realized that it was Welles: the soldier that had been rescued from the helicopter a couple weeks before. He'd taken a turn for the worst, or so Philip had said. The way he was displayed now, Andrea thought maybe his condition had worsened on purpose rather than by accident.

As she was inspecting this third head, Andrea heard a shuffling sound from a vent shaft on the other wall, followed by a quiet moan. She readied her gun and went to the vent, opening it slowly.

Out of it ambled a small form, a child, chained inside and wearing a bag over her head.

From the sounds it was making, Andrea knew the girl was not alive. Which meant Philip had trapped her here, kept her here for sentimental reasons. It had to be Penny. It had to be the asshole's daughter.

Andrea guided Penny out of the vent. She laid her hand on the child's head, about to pull off the bag.

Before she had the chance, a voice interrupted her.

"Andrea?"

Andrea stopped breathing. Her attention snapped to the woman in the doorway as if she were a ghost. Surely she had to be. Surely the woman she'd slept beside, ate with, dreamt of, was not standing in front of her, brandishing that shining, familiar sword.

Michonne lowered her blade slightly.

Penny shifted in her chains but neither woman broke their locked gaze. Andrea's heart was thudding wildly in her chest.

"Walker?" Michonne said finally, nodding towards Penny. Andrea only nodded in response.

Michonne looked sad, touched by the loss of the child. A loss she couldn't have helped or changed, but one she wished hadn't occurred anyway. Andrea was overwhelmed with the urge to hold her.

"Do you want me to do it?" Michonne asked.

In the pause that followed, Andrea quirked an ear to the gunfire outside. She still couldn't believe Michonne had found other people so quickly. Or perhaps she'd simply used the invasion as cover for her private operation. Either way, these were questions that could be answered when they were safely out of Woodbury.

It was funny how quickly Andrea came to that decision to escape. As soon she knew Michonne was real, the resolution came without question.

"No," Andrea finally answered. "I'll do it."

Michonne may have been the more ruthless of the two of them, but when it came to children, the woman had an unmistakable sensitive spot. Andrea refused to add to it.

She turned to Penny and pushed the small form back a few steps closer to the wall, partially hidden from the doorway by the aquariums. She could spare Michonne the sight of this too.

Before her hands had left the small shoulders, Andrea heard the clash of Michonne's sword falling to the ground.

"You bitch," the Governor's tone dripped with fire.

Andrea whirled around and caught sight of Michonne being dragged out of the doorway by the Governor, who had not yet seen the child.

"Philip!" Andrea called out. But it was not in fear or surprise like he might have expected. She said it with rage.

He returned to the doorway, still holding Michonne, his hand clamped over her mouth and holding a gun against her head.

He looked at Andrea, then to the small, chained form she was holding to her. Penny had still not lashed out; Andrea thanked the gods for the walker's docility. She hoped it lasted.

"What–what are you doing?" Philip asked. He sounded suddenly like a kicked puppy, wounded and afraid.

"Let her go." Andrea said darkly.

"You'd kill my girl? For this _bitch_? She _abandoned _you!" He was shouting now, fear mixed with betrayal.

"I abandoned _her_." Andrea replied. "And as for your _girl_, Philip. She's dead already."

"Please, please don't hurt her..." The Governor was back to pleading.

"Let go of Michonne and step out of the room. I will push Penny to you." Andrea unclipped the walker's collar as a show of faith, a little wary of the danger of that action, but determined anyway.

"Fine, fine." Philip mumbled. He let go of Michonne and she vaulted towards Andrea, snatching up her sword as she went.

With Michonne at her side, Andrea pushed Penny towards the shaking man, out of the room, stepping back as Philip moved to take her.

As he was distracted, checking Penny for any injuries, Andrea leveled her gun at Philip's head.

Before she could take the shot, Merle burst through the front door, throwing Philip out of the way.

Michonne had thrown a window open and was dragging Andrea through it before she had time to process what was going on.

The pair quickly found an exit from the town, taking advantage of a stretch of abandoned wall. Andrea pushed Michonne over first. As the blonde put one leg over the wall, her left arm was struck. She toppled over gracelessly as her other arm rushed to the place the bullet had lodged. Michonne pulled her to her feet.

"Shit!" Michonne breathed as she assessed the wound.

"There's no time - let's get the hell out of here!" Andrea hissed.

The two of them ambled along with their respective injuries, Andrea getting paler by the second.

Michonne ripped off her headband as they jogged and wrapped it tightly around Andrea's arm.

"We need to stop the blood right now. We need to get you to Hershel. He can take the bullet out." Michonne said.

Andrea stopped dead in her tracks.

"To _who_?!" She wondered if she was hearing things and had completely lost her mind. Or if she'd heard correctly and _Michonne _had completely lost it, calling forth a name from stories Andrea had told her months ago.

Michonne didn't stop moving, but she slowed for a second and turned her head towards the blonde.

"Come _on_! Ask questions later. Trust me for now!" Michonne said. But Andrea didn't have time to react because Rick had appeared, another ghost from another time. He threw Michonne up against a train car, pinning her to the side with his arm.

"You! Where the _hell_ did _you _disappear to? Were you just fucking with us the entire time?! Leading us into a trap?" Veins were bulging in his neck.

"No! You have your people, don't you? I wasn't tricking you!" Michonne didn't struggle beneath his arm but she protested viciously with her words. She would not have her honour questioned.

"We have Glenn and Maggie, but we lost two men - Oscar's dead and Daryl's gone!" Rick spat.

"Andrea?" Glenn had noticed the second figure standing a couple metres back, completely still. He thought he had to be seeing things. The woman was dead. Wasn't she?

Andrea ran forward suddenly, shaken out of her stupor, and grabbed Rick's arm, forcing it back from Michonne. She probably wouldn't have succeeded if he had not been so surprised by her appearance that he let up willingly.

"A-Andrea?!" Rick stammered in disbelief. He was afraid he was seeing another ghost, like Shane emerging from the smoke. "H-how?"

"Long story." She said. She winced and grabbed at her wound. "Can I tell you when we're somewhere safe?"

"I have to go back for Daryl; I have to be sure." Rick said vehemently.

Andrea shook her head.

"We will come back. I promise. But right now, we have injured people." Andrea motioned to Maggie and Glenn, who had both sustained various injuries in the assault. "And we won't be much good to Daryl this way."

"And they know about the prison, Rick. It isn't safe to leave them there alone too long." Maggie added.

"Besides, Merle's in there." Andrea continued. "And I doubt he'll let them kill his brother." She wasn't so sure it would happen that way, but she knew the Dixon brothers were resourceful. They'd figure something out.

"Merle?!" Rick could barely process the onslaught of new information. People he'd thought were dead were popping up all over the place. And this time not as mindless husks.

"Another long story." Andrea glanced over her shoulder. Rick followed her gaze. There were long shadows beginning to pop up over the town wall. It was a ways off, but not far enough.

"Can we run now?" Andrea asked.

"Yeah, we'd better." Rick said. "Come on."

Andrea grabbed Michonne's hand and the group fled into the night.

* * *

Michonne's tracking came in handy. Even in the dark, she was able to find the way they'd come in, leading them back to the road and to the car.

Rick drove them back to the prison at full speed. They sat in silence, trying to catch their breath and what was left of their energy. Maggie fell asleep first, then Glenn, both of them finally feeling safe enough to relax.

Andrea smiled at her old friends, glad that they'd been saved from whatever awful fate they'd neared. She turned to Michonne. The warrior was staring out of the window, dazed and clearly exhausted, but unwilling to sleep.

"Just close your eyes. I'll wake you when we get there." Andrea said softly by the woman's ear. Michonne turned her dark eyes to her pale partner. She shook her head.

"I can't."

"Yes you can. Please." Andrea took Michonne's hand and squeezed it. "Trust me."

Michonne stared at the blonde for a moment longer, searching those bright eyes. Finally she sighed and laid her head against Andrea's shoulder. Andrea's head following suit, leaning against Michonne's dreads.

The soft heaving of Andrea's chest soothed Michonne to an eventual rest.

It felt like she'd only been asleep for the span of a few seconds when Andrea stroked her cheek to wake her.

"Hey. We're here."

Michonne opened her eyes and took in the massive prison, stretched before her like a shadowy hell. She hoped they wouldn't trap her again. She hoped she could protect Andrea, that they could keep one another safe. She wanted to trust these people, Andrea's old friends, but it was out of her element. Civility was a language she couldn't always understand anymore. It had been hard enough figuring it out with one person. But with a whole group of people? She was afraid to find out.

Andrea pulled Michonne out of the car behind her and Rick came to her side.

"Is the bullet still lodged?" Rick asked.

"Yeah," Andrea replied.

"Then we'll ask Hershel to see you first. He's going to be very busy tonight."

Before they got all the way into their prison block, Carl bombarded them.

"You're back!" Carl said, then after a moment added, "Where are Oscar and Daryl?"

Rick was silent for a moment as he looked his son in the eye. Carol stepped out of one of the cells, Judith in her arms, tears already in her eyes. He locked eyes with her too.

"Oscar was shot. Daryl... we think he's captured." Rick replied, trying to maintain composure. Carol covered her mouth as she tried to unsuccessfully halt a sob.

"But as soon as we're tended, we're going back for him." Rick added firmly.

Hershel and Beth rose from their cells and Beth ran for Maggie, wrapping her fiercely into her arms.

"I was so scared," Beth sobbed into her sister's shoulder, shaking with relief.

"Me too, kid. It's okay. I'm here." Maggie soothed. Hershel caught up and joined the hug too, pulling Glen into the fold.

Carol finally registered the blonde stranger. She handed Judith to Rick and practically toppled Andrea with the force of her embrace.

"Oh my god..." She breathed between sobs. Carl was beaming in spite of the bad news. They'd lost someone dear to them – only for the time being, he firmly believed – but they'd found someone else. Someone else they thought they'd never see again. It was an overwhelming mix of emotions for everyone.

Andrea's eyes searched the rest of the hall, looking for the rest of them, eager to be fully reunited. She saw one man in a prisoner's garb exit a cell, a man she didn't recognize. She glanced worriedly at Rick.

"It's all right," Rick said, referring to the prisoner. He approached the man and quietly informed him of Oscar's passing. Axel's shoulders sank in despair.

"What happened to you? Where have you been all this time?" Carol gasped as she pulled back a bit, keeping her hold on Andrea's arms.

"I've been with a friend. Someone who found me after I lost _you_ lot." Andrea turned to the quietest and most uncomfortable person in the room and smiled. Her warrior.

"You were-?" Carol began, trying to puzzle out how the mysterious woman who'd come to them only a day before could also have been Andrea's travel companion.

Andrea turned back to Carol.

"It's a long story. I'll save it for when we're all safely back here." Andrea said.

Carol's eyes turned dark and her face returned to its melancholy. Andrea lifted the woman's eyes to meet hers.

"Hey, we're going to get him back. I promise." Andrea said. Carol nodded.

Hershel had moved on to Michonne, offering a hand for her to shake.

"Thank you for bringing them back to us. Thank you." He was glowing through his bushy beard.

Michonne took the hand awkwardly, shaking and releasing it as soon as possible.

"Don't mention it." She said. She meant it.

Andrea finally registered the absences – there was a baby, but no Lori. And no T-Dog.

"No..." Andrea's voice was barely audible. Carol followed her gaze to the infant in Rick's arms.

Andrea looked at the baby, at Rick, at Carl. She sobbed.

Michonne watched on, paralyzed by her inability to help. She didn't know how to support Andrea's loss, not when so many could offer her more. She felt helpless.

Carl stepped away to speak privately with his father. It wasn't long before Rick's voice was raised.

"You _what_?!" Rick asked in disbelief.

"Dad! I had to! They needed help. I helped them _and _I kept ours safe. Isn't that what you would have done?" Carl fought back.

Rick stared at his son for a second, glanced down at the baby in his arms, then back to Carl.

"Yes. I mean, probably. Just, just take me to them and then look after your sister. I'll figure out what's next." Rick handed over the infant into Carl's arms. Before they continued down the block, Rick turned and called to Hershel. "Can you patch everyone up as best you can? We're headin' back out tomorrow. I need everyone at their best."

"Sure thing," Hershel called back. He turned to the returners. "Who's first?"

* * *

Each of the injured sat complacently as they were mended. Michonne gave her hand to Andrea to squeeze while Hershel pulled the bullet from her arm as delicately as possible.

Andrea tried to lift it when he was done, but Hershel stopped her.

"Don't go aggravatin' it too quickly, now. It's going to be sore for a little while."

"Guess I'm gonna have to learn to shoot one-handed," Andrea brooded.

Hershel moved on to Glen and Maggie's injuries.

Michonne was considerably undamaged for all her adventuring. Her leg was still sore, but Hershel had worked magic on it the day before. She was thankful she could walk properly at all. There was no infection either.

But she _was_ getting more and more uncomfortable in this group of people. She suddenly felt like she didn't belong there. Like she was an outsider in their midst whilst Andrea settled in as if with family.

Besides which, she despised the dank air of the prison. Even if they'd cleared the bodies out, it still stank, the stale rot of death hanging all around them.

"I need some air." Michonne said suddenly, rising to her feet.

As she moved to leave, Rick returned, looking more at ease. When he saw Michonne turn to go, he couldn't help the suspicious expression that crossed his face.

"I'll come too," Andrea added, noting Rick's reaction. She rose to her feet. "Do you mind, Rick?"

He met her eyes and understood. Andrea trusted Michonne, and she wanted him to trust her too. It had been so long since Andrea had been with them, and yet she fell in easily, as if she'd never been lost.

"No, that's fine. Just be careful, okay? Don't go too far. And come back in and get some sleep as quick as you can. We're going back tomorrow." He paused, staring at the floor. "I just hope there's something left of 'em when we get there."

"There will be," Andrea said. She squeezed his arm comfortingly and then followed Michonne out to the fenced yard.

Michonne was seated on the pavement, looking up at the sky.

"One of the only things better about this world," Michonne said as Andrea sat down next to her. "You can finally see every last goddamned star."

Andrea looked up too, reveling in the light from the sky. She dropped her gaze to the ground.

"I'm sorry if it got a little, Brady Bunch in there. It's been a while, but they're a good group of people. You'll get more comfortable." Andrea said. She picked at the hem of her pants.

"Yeah, maybe. Long as they're good to you, that's all I care about." Michonne said.

Andrea looked hard at the warrior.

"Meesh, I am so sorry." Andrea said. She meant to say more, to explain all of the ways in which she was sorry, every detail of every mistake. But she didn't know where to start.

Michonne finally turned her head to meet Andrea's eyes.

"I know. So am I. I could've tried to convince you a little more calmly. It just felt so wrong there."

"And you were right," Andrea said. "That place was all kinds of wrong and I just didn't get it until you left. Maybe because having you there didn't make it so bad to bear."

Michonne smirked at her friend's little admission.

"I missed you." Michonne said, barely audibly.

"I missed you too. So much."

Michonne put her arm around Andrea's waist, pulling her closer, careful not to bump her injured wing.

Andrea dropped her head to Michonne's shoulder.

For a few minutes they sat in silence, enjoying the closeness. But something within Michonne stirred. It was jealousy.

"Did you... and the Governor..." Michonne didn't even want to put it into words.

"Yes. I can't take it back. I wish I could. I had some idea that it would help me find out more - about the town, about the outside world. That he would tell me things. I thought it would keep me safe. At least until I decided to leave. It was stupid." Andrea's stomach heaved a little. She was sick with herself, sick with the whole situation.

"It's okay." Michonne soothed.

"But it's not!" Andrea pulled herself from Michonne's arm. "It's not okay, because I _did_ it and it was horrible and stupid, and all I could think about was how much I wanted it to be you. I wanted to be _with you_." Andrea's words tumbled out in a mess. She suddenly felt far too exposed, far too brash. She was risking their friendship, admitting how she felt. But she couldn't keep the words held in anymore.

All she could do was avert her eyes and pray she hadn't pushed Michonne away again with her admissions.

"It's about time you said something," Michonne said softly.

Andrea dared to lift her lids and took in the sight of big, brown eyes, inches from her own; of soft, plump lips so close she could feel Michonne's breath on her skin.

Michonne felt brave in that moment.

It was easy to be brave in the wilderness, battling for life against walkers and horrors and haunted humans. But she'd forgotten how to be brave in anything that didn't involve a blade. But Andrea's words, her eyes, her honesty, her strangeness - it made Michonne brave. It made her want them to be brave together.

It made her lean forward and kiss the pale pinks lips, timidly at first, then with more enthusiasm as she was met with warm acceptance.

Andrea curled a hand around Michonne's neck, pulling her closer, and Michonne slid a hand over Andrea's thighs, doing the same.

They parted only when they were out of breath. Andrea dragged a finger over Michonne's bottom lip, then grabbed her free hand and held it.

"We should probably-" Michonne began to speak when the silence of the night was disturbed. It was distant, barely audible, but they both turned in the direction of the gate. It was coming from the direction of the road. It was still far away, but closing in.

It was the sound of motors. The sound of the Governor's men come to exact revenge.

"No," Andrea breathed.

Michonne shot to her feet, sprinting back into the prison block. Andrea followed close behind.

"Rick!" Andrea shrieked. "They're coming!" She didn't elaborate. She didn't need to.

Rick bounded from his cot, stirred straight from sleep and corralled the rest of the group into the open space.

"I didn't think they'd be here this soon. I should've known." Rick began.

"Don't waste time blaming yourself." Andrea said. "None of us thought they'd be on their feet so fast. A third of them are probably still wounded. But they're coming. And quick."

"So what's the plan?" Glen prompted.

"We have to retreat. They have us outnumbered, outgunned. But we have to be smart about it. We know this prison better than they do. We know the terrain around here. We need a way to lure them in far enough so we can get to our vehicles. And theirs, hopefully. If we can lead enough of them away, we can attack whoever they've left behind to guard their vehicles and get the hell out of here." Rick said.

"We're coming too. We can help." The offer came from behind a locked cell door, from Tyreese. He was leaning into the bars, listening to their every word.

Rick only took a second to consider it. He'd spoken to Tyreese and his group. They were capable, they'd come far. And they seemed like decent enough folk. There wasn't much time to waste mulling it over.

"That's fine. I can't leave you here to die anyway. They'd tear you apart." Rick said. He nodded to Carl and the boy leapt into action, opening up the cell door and letting in the remaining survivors.

"But if you put one of my people in danger, I won't hesitate." Rick stared Tyreese straight in the eye. Tyreese nodded, hearing what was left unsaid.

"I understand." Tyreese said.

Axel stepped forward towards Rick.

"I want to volunteer." He said simply. He was a little pale, but his voice was firm.

"For what?" Rick asked.

"Well you said you needed to lure 'em. I can do that. Besides, I know this place the best. I used to deliver laundry all over the buildin'." I won't get lost." Axel added.

Rick nodded. He was impressed by the man. Up until now, he'd thought him cowardly.

"Are you sure?"

"Yessir. But you best figure out where you want me to take 'em. I don't think there's much time."


	4. Chapter 4

Sorry for the late update. It's been a ridiculous couple of weeks. This chapter is more plot-heavy. There's going to be a lot of shifting perspective – a lot more from characters who aren't Andrea or Michonne. Hopefully it works. Fingers crossed!

* * *

Rick dragged his finger through the thick layer of dust in the corner of the room, drawing a rough outline of the prison and the front gates. He pointed to the back of the prison.

"Axel you said you wanted to go here – where are you gonna lead them exactly?"

"There's an old garage back there. I figure I can light it up nice and bright with what's left there. Should be able to make an explosion of sorts, loud enough for y'all to hear too. That's how you'll know I've got 'em far enough away."

Rick caught Axel's eye – they shared a look of understanding. It would be a one-way trip.

Rick dropped his eyes back down to his makeshift map. He pointed to the front of the prison on the right-hand side.

"The North-East corner here is where I'm gonna go. My group's going to be fighting so I need people that are up to it. It's the closest we can wait near the gate without being exposed. As soon as we hear Axel's signal, we take the fight to whoever's left."

"We're all good to fight," Tyreese gestured to himself and his three remaining companions.

"Okay," Rick agreed. "Who else?"

"Me," Andrea said. Michonne pulled her aside in seconds.

"No way, not with a bullet hole in your arm," the warrior warned. "I'm going with Rick's group. You're not."

"I have to agree with your friend here, Andrea. You're in no shape to shoot right now. I'm keeping you with the second group." Rick added. They didn't have time for private conversations. The decisions had to be made quickly.

"And just what's that group?" Andrea said a little warily.

"The group that's going to the tower to wait it out until we're done. They'll stay with the supplies we have left and bring them out when we're ready." Rick said.

"There's no way we'll make it to the tower. It isn't enough time." Hershel said. Rick nodded.

"Okay… Then right here," Rick said, pointing to another spot in the opposite corner of the prison. "There's an old guard lookout in this cell block. Should give you a vantage point and a pretty secure spot in case anything goes South. And it's still pretty close to the front yard."

"Who's in that group?" Carl asked.

"You, for starters." Rick replied, bracing himself.

"No way! I'm a good shot! I should be with you!" Carl protested.

"That's why I need you with the second group. It's your job to protect whoever's too wounded to fight until my group gives an all clear." Rick squeezed his son's arm. "With you will be," Rick paused as he surveyed the survivors, "Carol and Judith, Beth, Hershel, Glen, Maggie, and Andrea."

Maggie stood from her seated position and spoke up immediately.

"I'm fine, I'm barely hurt and you need all the people fighting that can."

Rick glanced at Glen. Glen was still too fresh from torture to fight anyone. Rick was reluctant to split them up, to put either of them at risk so soon after their imprisonment.

"Maggie, you don't have to," Glen pleaded.

"Yes I do." She said firmly. "I will _not_ risk anything happening to you again."

Glen looked into her eyes for a long moment, then finally nodded reluctantly.

"Okay then," Rick said. "Maggie, Michonne, and Tyreese's folks with me."

"What's the signal? For when we should come outside?" Carl asked. Rick almost smiled. He wished he had more time to spend relishing his pride in his son.

"We'll be checking vehicles, seein' which ones have enough fuel to last us. When we're ready, we'll start honking a couple car horns at once. And you come as quick as you can. Walkers will be drawn to all the commotion." Rick said. Carl nodded.

Michonne was standing to the side a bit with Andrea, soothing the blonde's hand in her own.

"I don't want you to go," Andrea said quietly.

"I know." Michonne said.

"I'm not ready to lose you again."

"Me neither. That's why I'm fighting to keep you." Michonne said. She brought her hand to Andrea's neck and hesitated. She was not used to having so many potential onlookers, but she pulled their foreheads together lightly anyway. "I'm not going anywhere without you. We'll clear the way and get the hell out of here. Together."

Andrea nodded gently against her head. The sound of advancing car motors made them part.

"Time to move." Rick said.

* * *

Axel was more agile than he looked, even though he hadn't run this far and this long since he was a free man. It felt oddly exhilarating.

"You fuckers are pretty slow!" He yelled over his shoulder. "That shitty town must have made you fat!"

He could hear the scattered steps behind him advancing and slowing at an even rate. When he thought they might be losing him, he'd make noise or slow up a little, just enough to let them keep the pace.

He didn't run into too many walkers until the final stretch, and even then they were too slow to grab at him for long. Instead he led his pursuers right through a patch of shambling corpses as he slipped into the garage. He heard them open fire on the undead as he made his way around the room.

_This is it_. He swallowed hard.

He found the gas cans easily and began to spread the liquid around the perimeter of the room. He could hear the shots were fewer and far between now; he had to work fast. He amassed a couple piles of the empty cans and the few propane tanks he could find. There wasn't as much fuel as he'd hoped. He prayed it would be enough.

He stood at the back of the room armed with nothing but a zippo lighter. He made sure he was visible from the open door.

When the invaders raced into the room, he was ready.

"Well, looks like you've run yourself into a corner," the man at the front of the group said. Blood was spattered over his blonde hair.

"Yeah, guess so," Axel said, still panting.

"Where are all your friends? We know there's more of you."

Axel just smiled as the last few stragglers stepped further into the room. There still weren't as many as he would've liked. But he'd done the best he could. Rick would deal with the rest.

He moved to take a step towards them. Six guns trained on him. He paused and put his hands up. The man in front – bloody blondie – stepped closer to Axel, squinting, with his gun still raised.

"What's in your hand?" Blondie asked.

"Oh, this?" Axel held up the lighter Oscar had left him. It seemed fitting it should end this way. It felt like a bit of vindication for his fallen fellow prisoner. "Just a little somethin' my friend lent me. Guess it's mine now since he died in your town."

"Pity." Blondie spat. "And _you're_ gonna die _here_. Now where are your friends? The live ones?"

One of the other invaders, a brunette girl, probably not much older than Beth, sniffed at the air.

"Hey, Jacob." She said to blondie, her gaze flicking around the room as she connected the dots. Axel winced. _All's fair in war_.

Axel locked eyes with the man. He jerked his head and threw a horrified glance into the hall behind the group. It was his best bit of acting his whole life. They all turned towards the doorway simultaneously.

Axel flicked the lighter and tossed it into a puddle of gasoline. Fire swept around the room in a wave of heat, licking at the walls and cutting off the exit quickly. The room began to fill with thick, black smoke.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Blondie shouted over the roaring of the fire.

"Something right for once." Axel said quietly to himself.

Blondie shot Axel before the fire hit the propane tanks stacked in the corner. The last prisoner of the West Georgia Correctional Facility died with a smile on his face.

* * *

Rick guided his group down the hall, each of them bending slightly at the knees to muffle their movements. He motioned to them to head inside the room he'd been thinking of, a good place to hole up until they heard Axel's signal.

They waited uncomfortably behind the closed door.

"Michonne, Maggie – what can you tell me about these people?" Rick asked.

"What do you want to know?" Michonne asked.

"Numbers, capability, brutality – anything. I know they're not short on weapons. We killed maybe 3 people in town, probably wounded 10-15 others. If we were lucky." Rick said.

"A woman told us there were 75 or so of them in town, a lot of them are women and kids, and not all of the adults are trained for combat." Michonne said quickly.

"How many would you guess?" Rick asked.

"They usually take out small forces beyond the wall; but I'd say maybe 30 of the people there are any good with a weapon." Michonne said.

"But I'll bet a bunch more will be pissed off and looking for revenge. There are some angry villagers headed our way. And they aren't carrying pitchforks." Sasha added darkly. Tyreese threw her a glare. He was concerned Rick would see her as a hindrance, but Tyreese knew his sister would step up and bite her tongue when it mattered.

"I'm guessing they won't send all of them or else no one would be around to protect their walls, right? So there might not actually be that many of them. And they might not expect there to be so many of us." Rick chewed his lip distractedly as he puzzled through the possibilities. "What are they like? Are we dealing with psychos? Or just your average, holed-up survivors?" He asked.

Michonne and Maggie exchanged a look. Michonne spoke first.

"Well I wasn't captured and tortured; they treated me and Andrea pretty well. But the Governor… something is wrong with him. And I get the feeling his core group is pretty messed up too if Merle's any indication. Leading by example and all that. The rest of them are pretty tame most times." Michonne finished.

"Maggie?" Rick was watching the younger woman carefully. Her eyes had dropped to the floor and he thought he could see her shaking. "Did they? I mean, did any of them–"

Her eyes snapped up to his before he could finish that thought.

"You can't tell Glen." She said. All but she and Rick dropped their eyes to the ground, shifting uncomfortably. Rick nodded.

"The Governor didn't touch me much, just made me strip down a bit. But then he let one of his other – Cesar – he… he let him…" she trailed off and stared at the wall.

Rick put himself next to Maggie, keeping his voice low for her to hear. He felt sick.

"Maggie, you shouldn't have come with us. You're not ready." He put a hand on her arm. She shook it off and met his eyes.

"I'm fine."

"No you're–" Rick began but before he could continue, the group all turned towards the sound of an explosion as they felt the building's foundations shake. They were all on their feet in seconds.

Rick looked at Maggie again. There was no time left to get her back to the other group. He'd have to protect her somehow.

"Everyone stay close. I'm going to see if I can spot how many are out there. The explosion probably has them on alert now," Rick said as he led them out the door and down the hall towards the exit. He motioned to everyone to stay silent as he propped the door open slightly, squinting a little against the morning light. He could see a dozen or so panicked figures surrounding three vehicles – two trucks and a car.

At the centre of the group, a handful of them were arguing. Rick couldn't hear the particulars, but it sounded like a couple of them were spooked and wanted to leave. There was a concrete block in the yard, about halfway between the townspeople and Rick's exit. But getting there for cover would be a feat.

"Do we still have any smoke grenades?" Rick turned to Michonne. She unclipped one from her belt and handed it to him. "Okay, there's a barrier of sorts, something we can use to hide behind, but it's gonna be risky. Tyreese, can you and your group get there first? We'll lay down cover fire from the door. I'll throw the smoke in first to give you something to hide behind." Rick explained.

"Are you fucking _kidding _me? What are we, your cannon fodder?" Sasha exploded, lunging forward and looking like she was about to tackle Rick. Ben and Allen barely moved quickly enough to hold her back.

"Sasha!" Tyreese hissed, trying to keep his voice down. If she gave them away now, they could all be dead. "It ain't like that! It's safest to move first when the smoke's thickest. Rick's giving us a chance. Are you going to screw that up? Cause if you are, you can stay behind." Tyreese glared into his sister's eyes. She was breathing hard, her jaw muscles tense. She shook off Ben and Allen and let out an exasperated sigh.

"Fine."

"Sasha?" Tyreese tested.

"Yes! I'll do it! Just don't say I didn't say anything when you get us all killed." She huffed and crouched back down.

Tyreese looked to Rick.

"We're ready when you are."

Rick checked out the door one more time. The villagers were still arguing and most of them were distracted enough by the bickering that Rick figured the time was now. He discarded the grenade's pin and lobbed the grenade hard and high, hoping to whatever gods were left that it found the area in front of the group he was aiming for. It landed with a hard thunk and the invaders turned. "_A little left of centre, but not bad, Grimes,"_ Rick heard the voice of his 10th grade P.E. teacher in the split second before the smoke erupted.

"SHIT!" One of the townsfolk cried in the haze.

"GO!" Rick hissed to Tyreese.

Rick, Michonne, and Maggie began to lay down cover fire high over the heads of their counterparts as the four near-strangers made their way quickly to the barricade. The smoke was clearing too fast. Tyreese and company began shooting over the top of the concrete and Tyreese shouted back to the rest.

"Rick! Now!"

Rick corralled Michonne and Maggie and they sprinted to the rest of the group.

There was still too much confusion amidst the cloud of smoke for their attackers to do much damage. Bullets flew wildly out of the white shroud as the last of it began to blow away in the wind. They heard the sound of a car being started – apparently one of those arguing had decided it was time to retreat. Rick hoped that at least a few of them had decided to high-tail it. He watched the car speed off down the road and through the gates. He spotted walkers coming through the forest, already advancing on the jail. They weren't moving quickly of course, but it would make their escape more troublesome.

They could finally make out the vehicles clearly: one massive army truck and another smaller truck on the left and a red car off to the right. The gunfire had ceased. Rick was afraid they were going to be in some sort of standoff, each group hiding, each unwilling to relent or make a move.

"Hey, look, we can settle this without anyone getting killed! We don't want to fight you!" A voice called out from behind the furthest of the two trucks.

Rick almost laughed.

"Didn't seem that way when you took our people and tortured them." Rick shouted back. He caught sight of a wide-eyed Maggie. She was gripping her gun in both hands, her knuckles white with strain. He furrowed his brow at her.

"It's him." She said weakly. "Cesar."

Anger curled in Rick's chest.

"Let's talk about it, we can figure this out! My boss is a loose cannon, but I can be reasonable. You don't want to lose anymore of yours, do you?" Cesar's voice rang out again. He _sounded_ absolutely reasonable. The voice was much too calm. Rick figured that was probably how they usually did this – lure the enemy out with a peaceful approach and then take them for all they had.

"Oh yeah, where is your fearless leader?" Rick called out. He heard Cesar laugh darkly.

"He didn't come along for the trip. But he could be convinced that you folks are all right. You could stay in Woodbury, be safe. We have plenty of resources for all your people." Cesar replied.

While Cesar was making his paper-thin offers, Michonne motioned to Rick. She drew his attention to the closest vehicle – the army truck. She indicated she wanted to move and sneak up on those hiding behind it. Rick shook his head. It was too risky.

"How about a show of faith?" Rick called out.

"What did you have in mind?" Cesar said.

"How about you come out here with a little white flag and we can have a real talk. Face to face." Rick said. He waited as he heard some whispered exchange from the other side.

"I'm short on little white flags, but I'll come out if you do." Cesar said.

Maggie grabbed Rick by his collar.

"What the _hell_ are you doing?!" She hissed.

"Improvising." Rick said quietly. "You first!" He called out over the concrete. He waited until he heard a few hesitant steps on the pavement. Maggie couldn't help herself. She popped her head up enough to see over the barricade and spot the shifting form for a second before Rick yanked her back into cover.

"What the hell are _you_ doing?" Rick said to her.

"That ain't him." Maggie said simply. "He was definitely the one talkin' but that ain't him out there."

"You sure?" Rick asked. She nodded firmly.

Rick glanced to Michonne. "When I say, you get to that truck." Michonne nodded too. Allen, the recent widower, went to Michonne's side after a brief exchange with Tyreese.

"I'll go with her." Allen said plainly.

"Okay. Get ready." Rick said.

Rick took a steadying breath. He popped up over the barricade and leveled his gun at the only visible target. It was a man with dark hair who looked remarkably like… Shane. _Not again_. Rick pulled the trigger. The man crumpled and a woman's voice cried out from behind one of the other trucks.

"Don't fuck with me, Cesar." Rick yelled as he dropped back down behind the barricade. There was a long silence.

"And how do you know _my_ name?" Cesar shouted out bitterly. There was nothing calm left in his voice. Only barren anger.

"Cause you didn't kill me when you had the chance, you _FUCK_." Maggie yelled back. Her face was red. Her hands were shaking lightly.

Cesar's laughter rang out against the prison yard. Rick gritted his teeth.

"Open fire on the trucks." Rick said quietly to his group. "Now." He nodded to Michonne and Allen.

They stood just high enough to aim their weapons at the enemies' cover and let the sound of their bullets mask Allen and Michonne's move to the army truck. The pair made their way around to the far side.

Michonne motioned to Allen to stay put while she made a run for the next closest truck. He shook his head and furrowed his brow. She nodded to him anyway and ran while there was still enough noise to mask her footsteps.

She spotted a group of four behind the first truck. Their backs were to her and they didn't register her movement amidst the gunfire. She rounded the front of the furthest truck. There were only two people hidden behind it, and the one furthest from her was definitely Cesar.

She drew her sword just before the firing stopped, giving way to a sudden silence again. She made her move quickly, grabbing the closest figure from behind – she was a blonde woman Michonne thought she recognized from Woodbury's wall. Michonne held her tightly with her blade to the woman's neck. Cesar snapped around at the sudden sound behind him and aimed his gun at the women.

"Drop it or I kill her." Michonne said. Cesar only threw her a little side smile. In the next second, Michonne saw him prepare to fire and she threw the woman forward into him. The woman's body took the bullet for her and Michonne stepped forward with her blade, making quick work of Cesar. She didn't kill him. But she did hack off his arms at the shoulders, making him resemble one of her pets. He began screaming and writhing on the ground and she scooped up his gun and returned to the rear of the truck before anyone came to look for their cursing leader.

"Cesar!" A voice called out from behind the red car. The man only screamed intelligibly in response. Michonne caught Allen's eye. He looked scared. The four figures behind the army truck were turning around, making their way in her direction. She holstered her sword and held the gun. She held up one finger, then two, then three, and the two of them shot around the trucks at the approaching townsfolk, dropping them easily.

The commotion drew out the remaining forces from behind the car on the right. They ran from cover, firing rapidly but blindly, no longer sure where Rick's group was coming from. But those last few were outnumbered and they fell soon after. It was all over so quickly, in such a relatively short time, that Rick could barely process it. He quirked his ears, trying to get some indication of any remaining enemies, but the Woodbury force was disbanded – either dead or fleeing the prison. He sighed loudly, lowering his gun.

Maggie ran for the furthest of the two trucks and Michonne followed her. Michonne found the girl kneeling in front of Cesar's body. Cesar was in his last moments of bleeding out, a few spasms rocking through his frame. Maggie drew her knife from her belt and plunged it into his head, letting out a little cry as she did it. She drew the blade back out and plunged it in again, flicking blood over her clothes as she drew it in and out of the man. After a couple more furious stabs, Michonne came behind the girl and grabbed her arms, stilling them, forcing Maggie to drop the knife.

Michonne turned the girl around and wrapped her into her arms, soothing her as she rocked back and forth slightly. Maggie sobbed wildly into her dreadlocks.

Rick had the rest of the group move the corpses, dragging them away and damaging their brains enough to halt their transition into walkers. They didn't need any more trouble. He hesitated only once, just before sinking his own knife into the head of a teenager. The boy couldn't have been more than 16. Rick gulped and took a breath before he finished the job, trying desperately not to picture the face of his own son.

Finally, he came around the second truck and locked eyes with Michonne over Maggie's shaking shoulder. They nodded to each other, each knowing it was time to leave this place behind once and for all.

* * *

Andrea felt the explosion in the walls of the guard's overlook. She looked to Hershel briefly before standing. She began to pace. She hated the waiting around, hated feeling so utterly useless. She distractedly fished her knife out of her pocket, running her fingers over it.

She knew it made sense for her to stay back. She would only slow Rick down. But it didn't make it easier to let Michonne go. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to push the worst case scenarios out of the front of her mind. She wasn't very successful.

"She'll be okay. Rick knows what he's doing," Carol said. Andrea opened her eyes and looked at the woman, throwing her a weak smile. She wasn't really sure either of those things was true. She accepted the comfort anyway.

"Yeah, I know." Andrea said. She took a seat beside the woman. Andrea gazed down at the infant in Carol's arms. She drew her fingers lightly over the fine blonde hair on Judith's head. It was a wonder anything so pure could come out of this world anymore. Andrea glanced to check that Carl was not close enough to hear – he was standing at the door, spying out of the window in it, keeping guard.

"What happened? To Lori?" Andrea said quietly to Carol. The woman sighed softly.

"We got separated, a bunch of us. Walkers came through and we splintered off in different directions. Her and Maggie and Carl locked themselves in somewhere and she… she went in to labour. She asked Maggie to cut the baby out." Tears brimmed Carol's eyes. She still felt pangs of guilt – felt she should have been there to perform the C-section instead. She could have saved Maggie the trauma. All of that practising in the weeks before and she hadn't been around when it really mattered.

Andrea gripped one of Carol's hands and gave it a squeeze.

"She gave her life for this one. And we're going to make sure that matters. Right?" Andrea said softly. Carol smiled at her and nodded, a couple tears spilling over her cheeks.

"There's someone out there," Carl hissed, holding his ear to the door. Andrea stood and came to his side.

"How close?" She asked. She put her ear to the door too. Carl shook his head.

"Hard to say. I think there are two of them though."

"Maybe they split off from Axel's group." She listened intently for a minute. She could make out a woman's voice and a man's. It was hard to tell if they were getting closer or not. She knew they couldn't chance the pair coming down here and opening fire in the room. They had to be taken care of. She glanced back. Glen and Hershel were in no condition to fight. Carol and Beth were hardly battle-ready. She looked to Carl. Maybe the two of them could take down the stragglers, but what if there were more of them?

_If there are more, I can lead them away. Draw them away from the rest. Maybe into yard._ She might not make it if that was what it came to. But she couldn't let anything happen to these people, _her _people.

"We should go out there. See if we can kill them quietly." Carl said to her, bringing her back to the present. She was startled a little by how calmly he mentioned killing. But in his eyes she could only see protectiveness, not the kind of sick enjoyment she'd seen in Shane's eyes more than once. It comforted her somewhat and she nodded.

Glen piped up when he overheard them.

"I can go," he said, trying to hoist himself to his feet without much success.

"You can barely stand on your own there, buddy. You're staying here," Andrea teased. "Besides, you were always the most useful of us anyway. You have to stick around."

"You can't even shoot," Glen fired back with a slight smile.

"Nope, but I can still use my knife." Andrea said as she held up the gleaming blade. She turned to Carl. "How about you, kid? Are you going with the gun?" He nodded in response.

"I'd better. I don't think either of us can overtake two people hand-to-hand. You take one, I'll take the other."

Andrea slipped out the door and Carl shut it quietly behind them. They walked low to the ground, peering around corners, trying to follow the voices. As they closed in, they could make out more of the conversation.

"Well which direction do you _think _they went in?!" The woman said.

"I don't fucking know! And I sure as hell ain't taking a chance going in the direction of whatever the fuck just blew up! We should go back to the gates," the man replied.

"Cesar will _kill _us if we go back out there. Sorry, he'll call us cowards first, and _then_ he'll kill us." The woman hissed.

Andrea peered around the corner in their direction quickly. She only looked just long enough to tell that their backs were to her. She pulled her head back in and tried to get her heart to stop beating so fast. It felt like it was jumping up into her throat. She looked at Carl and waited. She was hoping for a distraction, anything that could potentially cause the stragglers to lose attention on their surroundings for a moment. Suddenly a loud pop and the sound of gunfire came from the direction of the gates. The sound was muffled a little, but was loud enough to provide some cover.

"Still want to go out to the gates?" The woman said.

"Shit…" The man said. "Well what the fuck do we do now?"

Andrea and Carl rounded the corner quietly, their footsteps carefully placed. Carl lifted his gun and aimed steadily at the man's head. Andrea readied herself to ambush the woman with her knife and restrain her as best she could with her injured arm. Carl's foot slid on something and made a noise too loud to be missed.

"Wha-?" The man barely had time to turn around before Carl's finger squeezed the trigger. He hit the man square in the head. Andrea had her arm around the woman quickly, bringing her knife around and plunging it into the woman's chest. The woman screamed as they both fell forward. Andrea didn't waste any more time; she drove the knife into the back of the woman's head. Her whole body was shaking as she lay on top of the limp form.

Andrea was panting heavily, unable to move. She winced a little, feeling the fresh pain in her left arm. She was going to pay for that later. Carl aimed his gun down the next hall and searched a little further.

"I think they were alone. There doesn't seem to be anyone else." Carl said when he returned to Andrea's side. "Andrea?" He said after a few more moments of silence.

"Sorry kid. I haven't had to kill… a living person in a while." Andrea said. She pulled her knife out of the head and wiped it off on her pants, returning it to its sheathe. She didn't dare turn the body over to see exactly who she'd killed. From the voice she guessed it was one of the women from the makeshift clinic. Not the nurse who'd tended her, but another woman that had remained on guard. She didn't need to look into that face to make what she'd done more real.

"Me neither." Carl said quietly. The closest he'd come to that at all had been his mother. That was different. She'd already been dead. But this, this was murder, plain and simple. He suddenly felt cold.

"Let's get back to the rest of them," Andrea said. She scooped up the guns the stragglers had been carrying. "No sense waiting here. Sounds like your dad will be signalling us soon," she said jerking her chin towards the yard. The gunfire had stopped and she thought she could hear yelling back and forth. She shook her head and led Carl back the way they'd come. It wouldn't do to dissect what was going on outside.

She could tell by a few of the expressions that the rest of her group had expected one or both of them not to return. They looked relieved.

"A couple stragglers. We took care of it." Andrea said simply as she sat down, wincing as she bumped her left arm.

A few minutes later, they heard gunfire again. Andrea squeezed her hands together. If she had been a praying woman, she would have prayed for Michonne. But since she wasn't, she merely shut her eyes and waited for the fighting sounds to cease. Even when it did, she didn't feel any better. What if they didn't hear horns at all? What if the rest of the group was lost? What if Michonne hadn't survived?

Andrea's eyes shot open.

The sound of blaring horns rose from the yard.

* * *

It didn't take too long for the prison survivors to reunite. Andrea shielded her eyes against the light as they made it outside. She had Glen's arm around her shoulders, letting him lean on her a little as they walked.

Andrea's eyes darted around for signs of the rest of the group.

Rick was siphoning gas from the army truck into a gas can. Tyreese's group was collecting weapons from the dead and tossing them in the trunk of a car.

Maggie was behind the wheel of the car, her hand resting on the horn. She was no longer sounding it though, simply staring through it, her face lost in a pale daze. When Glen caught sight of her, he took off in her direction, going as fast as his injured frame could take him. He nearly toppled her into the car when he threw his arms around her.

Andrea finally found who she'd been looking for all along. Michonne stepped down from the second truck, meeting Andrea's gaze instantly, a smile overtaking her face in spite of the carnage around them. Andrea smiled broadly and felt her eyes sting.

They didn't run to each other. They walked. Slowly. As if speed would disturb the scene and all of it would be revealed to be just a dream. When they finally reached each other, Andrea let out a shuddering sigh and Michonne wrapped her arms around the blonde's neck, holding her tight.

Andrea let out a small sob of relief into Michonne's shoulder. It was good to be held. It was good to know the person she'd been so close to losing, the person who'd saved her too many times, and the woman who she wanted next to her for whatever time she had left in this world, was still alive.


	5. Chapter 5

**AN**: Back from the dead! I did not realize the irony of that sentence until I typed it. How sad is that.

Lots of swearing, courtesy of the Dixon brothers. This chapter is generally pretty low key compared to the last couple. The action will certainly pick up again. But for now, some introspection.

Saya = the katana's scabbard (i.e. what it's sheathed in). I probably used it awkwardly, but alas. It'll have to do.

Read, review, enjoy!

**The Belle and the Blade – Chapter 5**

Daryl opened his eyes slowly, adjusting to the light of the room. He found he could only fully open one eye – the other was swollen over. _Just like dear ol' dad used to do._ He thought bitterly.

He cast a weary glance across his surroundings. The walls of the room were stone. From the unfinished ceiling hung a large fluorescent light, casting an unhealthy glow on the cement floor. The cement itself was spattered in blood here and there. He wondered if it was his or someone else's.

There wasn't a whole lot he could remember clearly – the folks they'd hit had murder in their eyes when they'd caught him and he was sure he wouldn't last long in this god-forsaken town. But they hadn't killed him yet.

Instead they'd elected to stick him in a room, beat the shit out of him every few hours (leaving him little in the way of sleep), and stick needles in his arm. Drugs would explain the poor memory the last – how long was it, days? A week? There were no windows in the room. No sense of time, sense of day.

The door on the opposite side of the room opened and Daryl sneered, his muscles tightening in anticipation as he struggled against the ropes restraining his limbs. He heard his brother before he saw him.

"Joe! What the fuck?! Just let me talk to him, I can talk him _down_. He's fuckin' losin' it, can't you _see_ that?" Merle yelled at his captor, a tall, pale gangly man with a pistol in hand. His metal arm was gone and his arms had been hog-tied at the elbows. Judging from the angry, red welts, the rope had been there for several days at least. _I'll bet he had a fun time taking a piss._ His face was messed up too – made colourful with bruises and his jaw was red and swollen.

The man named Joe pushed Merle unceremoniously to the floor beside his brother. He finished by spitting in their direction before he turned and left, locking the door behind him. Daryl listened closely. It sounded like there was a plain lock and a couple of deadbolts. _So much for an easy escape._

He didn't look at Merle when he finally spoke. "You look about as shit as I feel."

Merle didn't laugh.

Daryl tried again. "Do you know how long they been holdin' us?"

"Not really."

"D'they say what they're plannin' on doing?"

Merle turned to his brother with an incredulous look.

"Does it seem like I'm privy to that kind of information anymore?"

Daryl met his brother's gaze with hard defiance.

"How the fuck am I supposed to know. Maybe they dropped you in here to ferret out information. Maybe they beat you up to make it _look_ like you're a traitor when you're really still that fuckhead's little bitch."

Merle lunged a leg out and kicked Daryl hard in the thigh, but in the process tipped his own body over and faceplanted onto the floor. Daryl grimaced in pain but looked over to see Merle struggling without the use of his arms, attempting futilely to right himself. He let out a sputtered laugh.

"Touchy subject, huh, bro?" Daryl chuckled.

"Shuddup!" Merle finally managed to awkwardly push himself back up into a seated position, his face red with an amusing mix of strain, embarrassment, and anger.

"How the hell did you end up with that fucker anyway?"

Merle panted, still a bit out of breath from his struggling. "That _fucker_ saved my goddamned life. Which is more than I can say for _you_."

Daryl's expression darkened.

"I _looked _for you," he said, his voice a low growl.

Merle chuckled. "Well then, la-dee-da. I am ever in your debt, your royal _fucking_ highness."

It was Daryl's turn to lash out and kick the other man. He maintained his balance though, planting his boot even harder, right to Merle's knee.

"Aggh, fuck! Alright, alright! Jesus!" Merle hissed. "Happy fuckin' reunion."

The locks on the door clicked then – one, two, three – and a tall, handsome man with an eye-patch walked through it, flanked by two men with guns.

"Sounds like you two are gettin' along like gangbusters," the Governor's dark drawl enveloped the room. The man's face was scarred and broken around the patch on his right eye. His features seemed more drawn to Merle, the lines deeper. Gone was the charismatic, charming leader he remembered.

Merle recalled the manner in which he'd injured his eye: there'd been a mad scramble as the two women had fled Philip's apartment. The Governor had checked his undead daughter for any signs of injury (_Besides the fact she was already dead, can you fuckin' be-lieve it? _Merle had thought) and then swept out into the room to take after Andrea, but he'd slipped, falling over into the wall of aquariums and impaling his eye on broken glass. Merle had been the one to take out the shard as the man screamed in agony.

"Philip, you gotta believe I didn't have nothin' to do with all this!" Merle tried, but as soon as the Governor's angry eye was turned on him, he sat back firmly against the wall, shutting his mouth. Daryl resisted the urge to roll his eyes at his brother's panicked tone.

"That _either_ of you are alive should be considered nothin' less than a blessing considerin' your crimes."

Merle hadn't learned his lesson as well as he'd thought. He started in again. "What the _hell _did I do to deserve–"

"YOU LET THAT BITCH TAKE HER!" Philip roared, the vein in his forehead bulging.

Merle's brow furrowed as he tried to unravel what the man meant.

"Andrea? Sir, I may have been late to the party, but it looked like blondie was leavin' of her own accord, not to mention she tried to _kill _you," Merle said weakly.

Philip shook his head, his lips curling into a snarl. His voice was low this time. "You let that _black bitch_ take my wife."

Merle's face contorted in confusion. He recalled the picture he'd seen in the Governor's possession a few times – the one with his daughter and wife, the family that had died in the apocalypse. The woman in the photo _had _borne a bit of resemblance to Andrea. But to actually _believe_ that–

"She took my Josie and you didn't do a goddamned thing." The man seethed. He crossed the room and knelt down, putting his face inches from Merle's – the older Dixon brother couldn't meet the harrowing gaze of that pale-blue eye. "Michonne was supposed to be dead, Merle." He spoke low, just loud enough for the Dixon brothers to hear. "So on top of everything else, you lied. You are a filthy, lying, fucking TRAITOR. And I will not have traitors in my midst."

"Sir, I think you're a little confused," Merle mumbled, still unable to look at the other man directly.

Philip's face opened up, his eyebrows raising and his face breaking out in amusement before he erupted in laughter. The sound of it struck hard in the half-empty room, causing both brothers to flinch. He stood, casting his towering shadow over them both.

Daryl squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, trying to block out the memories that rushed in – a man with power, with fury, a man with brutal fists; an unstoppable, drunken force.

He braced himself for an all-too familiar bout of beatings.

But they didn't come.

Instead Philip turned away and crossed back to the door where he paused, half-turning back to address them.

"You'll stay alive until your friends get here. Then we'll cut each and every one of your throats. One by one."

* * *

Andrea awoke in a cold sweat inside her sleeping bag, breathing hard. For the past few nights she'd had the same nightmares of the town she'd fled. And of the man she'd nearly killed.

They were always some version of the events that had taken place – she and Michonne in Philip's apartment, Penny stumbling out of the vent in the back room. Only the dreams never ended the way reality had. There was always some twist in the events: Michonne being brutally killed before her eyes or Penny attacking her or Michonne, sealing their fate with a bloody bite.

In some of them, there was a woman in the apartment too. She had a blank-faced stare and knife wounds in the front of her chest and the back of her head. The woman would stare at her, clouded eyes seeming to bore into her innards, curling them up like copper wire.

Andrea rubbed at her eyes and turned to look at the form sleeping next to her on the floor of the tiny shed. Michonne, in an unusual turn, had slept like the dead the last few days, finally surrendering to the exhaustion she'd been saving up. The blonde smiled at her, thankful that at least one of them was getting some proper rest.

Unwilling to attempt sleep again for a little while, Andrea rose to her feet, eager to go to the bathroom while she waited for tiredness to settle in.

She threw a blanket around her shoulders and picked up her knife for good measure. She stepped softly over Michonne's body and through the shed door, shutting it quietly behind her.

The group had been camped out at this rest stop for the past four days or so, catching up on much-needed sleep and nourishment as they tried to figure out their next steps. The stop was composed of a convenience store and two sheds out in back. They'd delegated floor space quickly, dropping the mattresses, sheets, sleeping bags, and whatever else they'd managed to scavenge from the prison to form makeshift beds.

The sheds had been delegated quickly – Andrea and Michonne in the smaller of the two and Tyreese's group in the other. Andrea had the sneaking suspicion that the only reason the decisions had been made this way was due to Rick's hesitance to trust any of them, but she appreciated the privacy anyway.

She made her way slowly across the grass amidst the darkness, heading to kneel between a few trees. When she was pulling her pants back up, she heard movement ahead of her. She raised her knife.

There were voices, angry whispers back-and-forth between two people. She took a few steps forward and the two figures came into view, just behind the convenience store.

"And _I _said I don't want to talk about it! You constantly askin' doesn't make me want to tell you any quicker, so just _stop_." Maggie's voice was strained, as though she was holding back from crying. She turned to leave Glenn's side but he reached for her arm to hold her there. She stopped walking but wrenched her arm from his grasp.

"Please, Mags. Just talk to me!" Glenn struggled to keep his voice low.

"I will talk when I _want_ to talk. If that isn't good enough for you then that's too goddamned bad." Maggie stormed through the store's back door, slamming it behind her. Andrea jumped at the sound, but stayed crouched out of sight. She felt bad about overhearing the spat, but walking in on the middle of it would only have made things worse.

She watched as Glenn dropped his head, his shoulders slumping in defeat, before he turned back to follow her inside. Andrea rose back up and made her way inside her shed.

"Were you talking to someone out there?" Michonne sat up slowly, leaning her back against the wall. The blonde turned around and leaned against the door. She shook her head.

"It was Glenn and Maggie – fighting about something." Andrea replied. Michonne dropped her eyes, her expression darkening. "What is it?" Andrea asked.

"Did you know what was happening to them? What the Governor did–"

"No. You know I didn't. What does that have to do–"

Michonne's eyes snapped up. "One of his men _raped_ her, Andrea. Cesar. We killed him at the prison."

Andrea's mouth fell open. She struggled for a few moments, trying to form any coherent thought. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"It's not really mine to share." Michonne said, a bit ashamed that she'd caved this easily. "But… then I thought you should know what kind of man he really is." She didn't have to say which man she meant. Her tone was tinged with ire.

Andrea sighed and sat next to the other woman. She'd felt the resentment over the last few days. In spite of what Michonne had said in the prison yard, the woman was definitely not over Andrea's decision to stay in Woodbury. She couldn't really blame her for being angry. She was still angry with herself.

"I know what kind of man he is. I didn't know at first, and I should have trusted you, and I'm sorry."

"You already apologized." Michonne said.

"Well I'm gonna keep apologizing until you at least believe me, even if you can't really forgive me," Andrea said sadly.

Michonne turned to look at the blonde, considering her features in the barest light. She reached over and took a pale hand in hers.

"I _do_ believe you." She said. Andrea turned her head and smiled.

"Thank you."

They sat together in silence for a bit, their hands lightly intertwined, before Michonne spoke again.

"Had another one of your nightmares, didn't you?"

"Yeah."

"Why didn't you get me up?" Michonne asked.

"I'm not a kid, hon. I can fight the monsters on my own. Besides you were sleeping like such a little princess, I just didn't have the heart to wake you."

Michonne chuckled then – a warm throaty sound that filled Andrea with warmth. "Call me a princess again, I dare you," she said amidst her laughter.

"Warrior princess Michonne, keeper of the peace, master of the blade, defender of the – Oof!" Andrea failed to get the last bit out as Michonne pulled and then pinned her to the ground beneath her. The blonde burst into a stream of giggles at the sudden move, struggling against Michonne's limbs but finding no give in the strong form above her. She finally settled back against the sleeping bag beneath her.

"Fine! I submit! I will never suggest you're any kind of royalty ever again," Andrea smirked up at her captor.

"Good." Michonne said plainly. Her eyes raked over the woman's body before she carefully leaned down and pressed her lips to Andrea's. They moved together easily – The warrior released the captive arms and they both let their hands seek out any inch of bare skin they could find.

Andrea pulled Michonne down tightly against her and threw her legs up around her hips. Michonne chuckled at the eager move but her amusement was interrupted when the blonde flipped them over, looking down at her with a victorious glint in her bright blue eyes.

Michonne struggled playfully, pushing against the other woman's persistent limbs. "Cheeky," she muttered under her breath.

Andrea grinned and rolled her hips, sighing contentedly. "You betcha."

* * *

"Get up!" Michonne prodded the blonde in her side, eliciting yet another groan of protest.

"Just five more minutes. Please," Andrea refused to open her eyes and admit that it was morning already.

"You said that a half hour ago. Now get your lazy ass up. Beth's making breakfast." Michonne trailed a finger down the blonde's back, dragging the sleeping bag along with it, exposing the bare skin to the open air. She drew little circles against her spine, feeling out each groove under her fingertip.

"Mmm, you tell me to get up and then you do that – mixed messages much?" Andrea croaked.

Michonne withdrew her hand instantly and ducked her head down next to the blonde's. "Up. Now. Or else."

"Or else what."

"Or else I withhold any more touching whatsoever."

Andrea cracked one eye open to assess the seriousness of such a proposition. She finally gave an exasperated sigh and lifted herself up painstakingly to her feet, reaching around for the articles of clothing she'd shed in the middle of the night.

"It's your fault I'm so tired." Andrea said with a smirk.

"It's _our_ fault." Michonne corrected. She watched as the blonde dressed and then led her out of the shed by the hand, dropping it when they reached the back door.

When they stepped inside the store where the group was more or less assembled, they were met with a stony atmosphere. The only sounds were of Beth's assembling of various cans and disposable plates and cutlery. Tyreese's folks sat in one corner, looking mighty uncomfortable. Maggie and Carl were assisting Beth. Glenn paced at the front door. Carol was sitting on the floor cradling Judith.

Andrea was the first to break the silence.

"Good morning…" she tried to seek out anyone's eyes. Hershel finally looked up from his seat at the counter.

"Morning," he said quietly.

She stepped closer to him and folded her arms across her chest.

"What's going on?"

Hershel's mouth twitched. "Rick's gone."

"What do you mean _gone_?"

Maggie interrupted. "He went out to 'patrol' a few hours ago. Hasn't come back yet."

Carol sighed in frustration. Her voice was quaking when she spoke. "Daryl's probably dead by now. And here we are sitting on our hands while the bastard that's got him gets away with it. And Rick doesn't even have the decency to–"

"You keep your opinions to yourself for now." Hershel interrupted gruffly. "He's coming back. He just needs some time to himself. Man's had a hard go of it and he's been more than strong for all of us. He deserves better than your misguided anger."

Carol ran her tongue over her teeth but stayed quiet.

"Did he say where he was going?" Andrea asked.

"Not specifically, no." Hershel replied sadly.

Michonne came to Andrea's side and looked between her and the old man. "Let me go look for him. I can track him."

"And then do what?" Hershel dropped his voice lower. "You think even if you find him, he'll come back?"

"Don't you?" Andrea asked, confused at the sudden change of faith.

Hershel held her gaze for a few long moments. "Honestly? I don't know how he's withstood this much this long."

Michonne looked at Andrea squarely, seeking wordless permission. The blonde nodded. Before Michonne could turn to retrieve her sword, Andrea grabbed her hand and squeezed it for comfort, then let her go.

* * *

"You've been out here a while." Michonne stood a few paces from Rick. She found him at the apex of a tall green hill, grasses blowing lightly in the wind. He was seated a few metres from the corpse of a recently-downed walker. His hands were bloodied. And weaponless.

When he didn't answer, she sat a couple feet from him. She glanced around to make sure the area was clear for now, relaxing a bit. It wouldn't do to spook the man.

She sat with him in silence for a while, neither breathing a word, each looking out across the horizon. Searching.

"I can't lead them." Rick's voice was shaky. Michonne didn't move a muscle. She merely waited for him to continue or return to silence.

"They keep lookin' at me like I know something they don't, and I just keep losing them. I'll just get 'em all killed if I keep going. Or worse." He thought of Shane, of Lori, T-Dog, Axel, Oscar, Daryl – all of them and more: gone. What good was he to them? What good was he to anyone?

Michonne waited a few beats for his words to hang in the air. "You don't have to shoulder it by yourself, you know." She spoke solemnly. "_Sometimes _you do. When it's just you. But you have _people_ here. Capable ones, too. They'll help you if you let them."

Rick turned to look at her, as if suddenly realizing he was speaking to a real person and not another vision. She'd said more words strung together than he'd heard her speak thus far. He recognized how well she spoke when she chose to. She didn't meet his gaze, choosing instead to continue looking out over the landscape.

"Leading well doesn't have to mean leading_ alone_." She added.

He hesitated. There were too many unknowns, too many decisions, unanswered questions, risks – his problem was he had no idea where to start anymore. And he was fearful of how things might end no matter what he chose.

"What do I do?" He asked, searching her features.

She turned to look at him this time. "About what." She replied.

"Daryl."

She sighed and dropped her eyes to the grass for a moment. She looked back up to him. "Is this man worth dying for?"

Rick blinked once at the question. "Yes."

"Then let's go get him." She said, as if it were the simplest decision in the world.

"And what if we do? Die trying to save him."

"I don't deal in what-ifs." She stood to her feet and brushed off her pants, re-adjusting her saya against her hips. She took a step towards him and offered her arm. "We do what we _have_ to."

He waited only a moment before taking it and hoisting himself to his feet beside her.

* * *

When they returned to the rest stop, the afternoon was on its slow decline. Rick spotted Hershel and Maggie sitting out front, rifles across their laps, speaking in low tones. The old man drew his hand up and waved when he caught sight of them. Rick nodded towards him.

Michonne led the weary leader inside the store to get him fed.

Maggie turned to look down the road in the opposite direction, afraid to look her father in the eye. "And what do you want me to do about it."

He'd been asking about Glenn, wondering why the boy was so morose when they'd succeeded in keeping their lives.

"Nothing you don't want to." Hershel began. "But you've been through a lot. And I love you, Beth loves you, Glenn loves you – you're lucky to have as many people as you do. Don't push any of them away when you need them most."

She laughed darkly. "Always said you should've been a preacher, daddy." She ran her palm over the barrel of the rifle.

The old man reached out and stopped her hand, taking it firmly in his.

"Talk to him. Or don't. But stop treating him like he doesn't matter."


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** Haven't been writing much of late, but of course that finale pretty much yanked out the hearts of all Michandrea shippers. So here we are. I added in Ecclesiastes 3:1-8after looking for something that suited my needs, but I am by no means religious or well-bible-versed so if I've made an error or used something in a silly way, feel free to let me know.

* * *

(Read in a raspy announcer's voice): Previously on thewriteday's version of The Walking Dead (which she of course does not have any ownership or rights to, please don't sue, etc.):

_"YOU LET THAT BITCH TAKE HER!" Philip roared, the vein in his forehead bulging.  
__"You'll stay alive until your friends get here. Then we'll cut each and every one of your throats. One by one."_

_"Please, Mags. Just talk to me!" Glenn struggled to keep his voice low.  
__"I will talk when I want to talk. If that isn't good enough for you then that's too goddamned bad." Maggie stormed through the store's back door, slamming it behind her._

_Michonne's eyes snapped up. "One of his men raped her, Andrea. Cesar. We killed him at the prison."_

_"I know what kind of man he is. I didn't know at first, and I should have trusted you, and I'm sorry." Andrea said.  
__"You already apologized." Michonne said.  
"Well I'm gonna keep apologizing until you at least believe me, even if you can't really forgive me."_

_Michonne sighed and dropped her eyes to the grass for a moment. She looked back up to him. "Is this man worth dying for?"  
__Rick blinked once at the question. "Yes."  
"Then let's go get him." She said, as if it were the simplest decision in the world._

* * *

**The Belle and the Blade – Chapter 6**

Milton hesitated the moment before he brought his knuckles to the Governor's apartment door. He'd been hiding from the man for days, afraid of what was quickly becoming of the leader he'd thought of as friend.

He hadn't experimented with any more subjects. He knew the answer, maybe he'd known for a while, but Philip's constant hope, constant optimism that his daughter could be returned to her previous life had kept the pseudo-scientist trying to keep the dream afloat.

But he couldn't do it anymore. He was finally firm in the belief that there _was_ no going back. Andrea had helped him see that. Of course he'd never tell that to Philip.

He'd also heard rumours amongst the camp that the Governor was losing his grip on things. That his mind was frailer than before. And as much as it terrified him, Milton felt the overwhelming desire to make sure the man was all right.

He steeled what little courage he had and finally knocked.

"Come on in!" Philip's voice bellowed immediately, strangely bright. Milton gulped and opened the door, shutting it behind him before surveying the room. The colour in his face drained.

Philip was sitting on the couch in the large, open room with his daughter – or what used to be – standing in front of him, jingling in her chains, baring her teeth. It didn't seem to bother her father. The man was holding her still with one hand while he used the other to drag a brush gently through her hair, taking his time. He had a small smile on his face, as if the method of it were incredibly soothing.

Milton didn't take any further steps towards the pair.

"I w-wanted to see how you're doing." He said softly.

"You've been avoidin' me." Philip said, with no ire, completely focused on his task.

"I thought you might need some space to yourself."

Milton had been there – too late – the night of the attack. But he'd been just in time to watch Merle pull the glass from Philip's eye.

"Have you been working?"

"I, actually – I wanted to talk to you about that." Milton's breathing was shaky, his words coming out in a painful stutter.

Philip's movements ceased. He turned his head slowly towards the other man, bringing the brush down to his lap. "Oh?"

_Now or never. _Milton thought. He forced his next words out quickly.

"The experiments have been conclusive in that they have not yielded any results indicating that a biter can be brought back to a conscious, functional state. I – I mean, they are technically _conscious_ I suppose, but only in the most basic and unfortunately violent sense. And I don't see th-the purpose in continuing given the facts." His hands shook. He kept his eyes trained on the ground as he spoke. When he was done, he finally looked to the man, still unmoving on the couch.

Philip's smile was gone. The hand gripping his daughter had tightened visibly and she was resisting him more. The man was obviously angry. Yet his next words were incredibly light.

"Would you excuse me just a moment, Milton? I have to put the little tyke to bed." Philip stood and led Penny by her chains, guiding her into the back room.

Milton felt the sudden urge to flee but he couldn't get his body to cooperate. He stood stiffly in place. Philip returned in due time, locking the back-room door behind him. He stood for a moment, silently, hands on his hips before looking up at Milton, his expression gentler than before.

Milton's muscles relaxed. He recognized this man. Despite the eye patch, this man was the one he knew.

"Come sit and let's talk," Philip beckoned as he re-seated himself on the couch. Milton hesitated only for a moment before taking a place in an adjacent armchair.

"Now. You've still been working on it the last few days, right?" Philip asked.

"Yes." Milton lied. He hadn't made any attempts since the attack, but it would speak better for his case if the man thought he had.

"And you're absolutely sure that it can't work? The rehabilitation, if you will."

"Yes. I can now say that I'm sure it can't be done." Milton spoke more confidently now. He was pleased at how reasonable and upfront the man was being. He couldn't detect any of the strangeness that had been spoken of about town.

_Well, besides brushing his dead daughter's hair._ He reminded himself.

Philip nodded, looking down at his hands, considering this.

"I always had a feeling I was asking the impossible of you. You're no Victor Frankenstein after all," Philip looked at Milton with mirth in his eyes.

Milton chuckled lightly. "No, I'm not." He looked at the leader seriously. "You know I tried right? I wanted it to be possible. I really did."

"I know." Philip nodded again, his eyes gentle, before he rose to his feet. "I have some coffee made – would you like some?"

Milton blinked at the sudden sidestep in conversation.

"Uhh, sure. If you have some to spare. That would be nice."

Philip disappeared into the kitchen and Milton smiled to himself. He regretted feeling afraid of the man, of fearing what he would do when faced with the conclusion that his daughter would never be the person she once was. But then Philip was more reasonable than that, wasn't he? Milton assured himself that of course this was the case.

_I should tell him how worried I was. He'll get a kick out of it._ Milton thought. He was about to say as much when Philip returned to the room, stepping quietly behind the armchair, and brought down an empty coffee mug hard against his skull.

Milton had only a moment to consider how right he'd been to be afraid. Then everything went dark.

* * *

When he woke up, he was in a very familiar room. It took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust. His head was pounding and he was sure he'd lost blood. His hand went immediately to the back of his head, finding a patch of bloody gauze taped there.

He looked at his sticky, red fingers and then up around the room. It was his office. Bathed in the same dim lighting it always was. He tried to lift himself to his feet, succeeding only after a few stumbling missteps.

"Finally awake." Philip's voice was sinister.

Milton whipped his head around to find the source – the man was leaned against the door, a slight smile in his features. Only this one was not light, it was heavy. Thick with madness. Milton stumbled backwards a couple steps at the sight of it, bumping into his desk, a few instruments crashing to the floor.

"Ph-Philip. Why are you–"

"Nuh, uh uh. I didn't say you could talk, did I? Or did I give that impression when I bashed you over the head? My apologies." He didn't move from his spot. His eyes kept Milton's fixed to his. "Now I don't know when I said you'd be permitted to _stop _the work we agreed you'd do. I suppose you think you have some kind of control over what goes on here," he motioned around the room. "But you don't. So here's my new proposition."

He leaned off the door, opening it wide. Milton's eyes jumped to the archway; three men came through each leading a collared biter carefully, one after the other. Each of them brought the biters to a wall, where some ropes had been prepared. They began to affix the biters to the ropes, dodging the undead attempts to lash out at them.

"See, Milton, I think you've gotten a bit too comfortable with my hospitality. I think all you really need is the right _motivation _to successfully achieve what you've been workin' oh-so-hard to do."

The men finished their tying, not one of them venturing a glance at Milton. They left the way they'd come.

"So my new proposition to you is simple, really. You stay here. You work. And if you succeed, I might just let you live. If not…" Philip shrugged casually. "I'll leave that up to you."

Philip stepped through the door and shut it behind him. Milton heard several new locks click into place. No windows. No escape. He glanced around the room. Probably no food besides what he'd left there himself.

He propelled his body towards the door, his head still aching, and fumbled uselessly with the handle.

As he sank against the wall, slumping to the concrete, he understood his mistake. And he knew he'd been left here to die by the man who no longer was, who _couldn't _be, Philip.

* * *

Not too long after they'd found the rest stop, Glenn had stumbled upon a little pond close by. He'd been meaning to bring Maggie there for days, but had been struggling to find any opportune time given that she was still ignoring his presence most hours. The night before, when they'd been fighting behind the shop, had more or less told him that the right time wouldn't be coming soon.

So it surprised him when she'd come to find him on the porch the next evening and taken his hand in hers, smiling at him. He realized just how much he'd missed that smile.

"Daddy said you wanted to show me something," she said quietly.

He nodded. "Do you want to go now?" He asked.

"Yes." She said firmly.

And he'd done as she asked – guided them to the pond that he hadn't actually yet seen at night. Lit up under the starlight through the trees it was even better than he'd hoped. She gripped his hand tightly in hers, leaned her head against his shoulder when they sat down near the water's edge.

He could tell she wanted to say something. So he kept quiet, letting the silence be a comfort to her. When she spoke, it was low, just barely audible.

"When the sickness first started, my aunt said it was the bad in people rising to the surface for everyone to see. That if you looked hard enough we all had the potential for that in us. I never really understood what the hell she was talking about. But in that town – maybe they ain't _all_ bad, but the _potential_ for bad is… big."

She paused. He waited for her to continue, then unlinked their hands and wrapped his arm around her shoulder. She sighed.

"I keep thinkin' what if it's in _me_ now? What if I'm bad too?" Her voice was teary. She took another deep breath. "I saw him at the prison, the man from Woodbury that," she didn't finish the thought. Glenn had already enough of an idea of what happened. He didn't need the details. "And I just got so angry, seein' him there dying. I got_ so_ angry. I wanted to be able to hurt him, not just kill him, but cause him real pain, y'know? Even now that he's dead I can still feel it. _In_ me. That bad tryin' to get out."

She was crying now, soft, still tears falling over her pale expression.

"You make your feelings sound evil, but they're not." He said. "They're a natural reaction to something absolutely _awful._ I don't blame you – nobody can _blame _you for wanting to hurt him back. Right now it's still too new. It's going to keep hurting and even if it never really stops, you'll beat this too. And I'll be here for you."

She nuzzled her head further into him. "You sound like you know what you're talkin' about."

Glenn hesitated, unsure about revisiting his own past. About remembering people that were long gone from his life, even if only for a short time. But he decided if it could help Maggie, at all, he'd rather say what he was thinking.

"I told you about my sister once; the one that moved to Chicago before the collapse?"

Maggie nodded.

"Well she went through… something like what you did, before she moved. And after they put the man in jail, she still couldn't feel safe for a while. But she told me that it does get better. It's never going to be the same, but you're stronger than what happened to you, and it _will_ get better."

She pulled back from his arm far enough to look into his eyes. She brought their foreheads together, tears still dripping from her cheeks.

"I love you," she murmured.

"I love you too. So much." Glenn replied, kissing her gently.

They stayed by the pond for a while, dipping their toes in, pushing each other playfully near the edge. It wasn't until they heard a familiar groan and crunching amidst the trees that they put their shoes and socks back on.

"I guess that's our cue to leave," Glenn said with a smile.

* * *

The air in the store was heavier still since Rick's return earlier that day. Everyone was feeling the weight of Daryl's absence, the reality that the man might be dead by now.

Long after dinner, when Maggie and Glenn had returned from their excursion, Carol suggested something she'd been wanting to do for days. A vigil. A little service for Virgil and Oscar, for everyone.

Of course they'd organized makeshift funerals for most of the folks who'd died at the prison, but Virgil and Oscar didn't have graves or markers.

After a few minutes, the group had assembled a few extra candles from the store's stock and lit them in a corner of the room.

The group amassed, standing and shuffling, as they struggled as to what to say.

Carol tried first. "I didn't know Oscar or Virgil that well; I suppose none of us really did. But from what I could tell, they were decent men. They both risked their lives for ours. We're here because of them, and so I guess I just wanted to say thank you."

Several of the group nodded their heads in agreement.

Hershel moved forward, leaning on his crutches and holding a bible in one hand. "I've got something if no one objects." He waited for such an objection, and met with none, opened the bible and spoke.

"There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven:  
a time to be born and a time to die,  
a time to plant and a time to uproot,  
a time to kill and a time to heal,  
a time to tear down and a time to build,  
a time to weep and a time to laugh,  
a time to mourn and a time to dance,  
a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,  
a time to embrace and a time to refrain,  
a time to search and a time to give up,  
a time to keep and a time to throw away,  
a time to tear and a time to mend,  
a time to be silent and a time to speak,  
a time to love and a time to hate,  
a time for war and a time for peace."

The words struck hard with every member of the group. Some thought of the homes left behind, others of the lives that had slipped from their fingers.

Carol thought of her daughter – _a time to search and a time to give up._

Rick thought of leaving the prison, leaving all those ghosts behind - _a time to plant and a time to uproot._

Andrea thought of the woman next to her, her sombre warrior - _a time to be silent and a time to speak_.

Each of them looked around the room, exchanging weary smiles. At the end of Hershel's words, they said amen and held their friends a little tighter.

Hershel ambled from the centre of attention and the group began to take seats on the floor again. Rick stayed standing, taking up the fore of them.

"This last week has been especially tough. I'm sorry I haven't been better for you, but I do have a few things to say. The first is that I'm not making the decisions for this group anymore. We all have a say. The choices we make in the next few days, and for however long we last, affect us all. And I want us to make choices together." He looked carefully into each of the beleaguered faces around the room. "The second thing I need to say is the first of those choices: I am prepared to return to Woodbury and to bring Daryl back home to the people he belongs with. But I am making that choice only for myself. I will go alone if I have to."

"You're _not_ going alone," Glenn spoke up immediately and Maggie took his hand in hers, nodding her matched sentiment.

"Okay." Rick said.

"I'm in," Michonne said firmly.

"_We're_ in." Andrea corrected.

Hershel panned his eyes around the room. "I think it's safe to say that most of us support you even if we can't be much help ourselves."

"I'm coming." Carol nodded. "And before anyone says anything, I can handle myself. And you need as many people as you can get."

Rick nodded. "Sounds fine to me." He cast his eyes over to Tyreese's group. "I know this situation isn't the same for you, so if you don't want to join us, I completely understand."

"We'll have to talk about it first. I'll let you know in the morning." Tyreese replied.

Rick looked back over his friends. "My plan is to head out tomorrow for some extra firepower, then head out as soon as possible. We've dwindled their numbers, but it's going to be pretty hard going nonetheless. The man we're up against is not a merciful one. And he's waiting for us. But he has one of our own. And whatever he's done with him, that's gonna be his last mistake."

Carol smiled dimly, reminded of just what Daryl saw in Rick, why they respected each other. Why everyone respected him. It gave her a little hope for what was to happen in Woodbury. It gave them all hope.

* * *

"That was a pretty good speech last night," Michonne said, tossing a grin over her shoulder.

She and Rick had set off the next morning in pursuit of arms, as planned. He'd driven them to his former stomping ground – the town where he'd met his wife, raised his son. Currently, they were poking around a couple of the local bars where Rick knew there were a few weapons stashed.

Rick chuckled. "Thanks." He ducked behind the bar and started fumbling through the mess, hoping to some higher power that the owner had left at least something useful behind. A gun, some ammo; he'd take what he could get.

There was something bothering him though. It was part of the reason he'd asked Michonne to come along with him alone.

"_There_ you are," Rick muttered as he grabbed the pistol from its hiding place, hooked under a shelf. When he popped back up, Michonne came waltzing out of the office in the back, shaking a big box of bullets in her hand.

"I take it these go with _that_?" She ambled up to the bar and perched on a stool, handing him the box. He checked inside it and placed the gun and ammo on the top of the bar.

"Looks like it. For a second there I thought Creedence had actually taken his gun with him. Thankfully for us, he never was too quick to react."

"I think _Creedence_ was in the office. Looks like one of his customers got to him before he could come to his senses."

"Right," Rick nodded. He kept forgetting, odd as it was, that most of the people he'd known in this town were dead. He thought of Morgan for a moment, the man at the other end of the walkie. The man that for all he knew was dead too.

"How about a drink, barkeep?" Michonne's voice interrupted his thoughts. She'd plucked down a glass from the ones stocked overhead. She took a look inside it, wiped out the dust with her shirt, and placed it on the bar.

Rick blinked then smiled. "_That_ sounds like a fine idea." He turned around to survey his options against the bar back. "What's your poison? Scotch, gin, vodka, somethin' else? There's probably some wine somewhere," he glanced over his shoulder at her, "but I wouldn't recommend it."

"Noted. I think the scotch would do nicely right about now." Michonne replied, pulling down another glass and wiping it clean (or as clean as she could) and stamping it down beside the other.

"Scotch it is," Rick said, grabbing the bottle from the wall. He turned and poured a full tumbler for each of them, picking up his glass and holding it in the air towards her. Michonne mimicked the move, waiting.

"To being a survivor of the apocalypse, for however long we survive." Rick said with a smirk.

Michonne scoffed and shook her head, clinking their glasses together and downing her glass in one go. Rick followed suit and they both expelled a little wince of air, relishing the satisfying burn.

"We should bring some of those back." Michonne said, gesturing towards the other bottles. "In case we get to celebrate."

"Yes ma'am." Rick agreed, pouring them smaller helpings this time. He took to sipping it very lightly. Silence fell over them for a few moments, each looking down at their glasses.

Rick was the first to speak.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

He flicked his eyes up to hers for a moment before dropping them back down.

"It's probably none of my business," he began.

"No, probably not, but you're going to ask anyway." She cut in.

He looked up to check her expression. She was smiling as she sipped at her scotch which he took as a sign that he could continue.

"I overheard you and Andrea arguing earlier this morning, outside."

"You mean you eavesdropped."

"Not enough to know what it was about."

Michonne sighed. "Nothing, really. We were talking about Tyreese's group – since Tyreese and his sister are coming along and the other two guys are splitting. Andrea said they owed us or something. And I just, went off on her. Don't know why."

"You don't?"

Michonne looked back up at his questing gaze. He looked like he thought he knew something she didn't, which made her laugh.

"Maybe I do," she admitted. "When she was in Woodbury, she–" Michonne struggled to keep the anger suppressed in the coil of her stomach. "She was _with_ the Governor. I think she thought she was protecting herself, but every time I think of it, I can hardly look at her. It's stupid, really. It's not like she owed anything to me. I wanted to have her back so bad and now I'm wasting half my time being pissed off."

"Yeah, you are." Rick agreed.

Her eyes flashed at him. Of course he was right. But it still hurt to hear someone else say it. He put his hands up in surrender.

"Listen, I know what it's like. You feel betrayed, you feel left behind. Even if you know that reasonably you shouldn't. And then you start to resent that person, for whatever reason you do." Rick said.

Michonne watched as his eyes flickered with something dark, something like regret. She cooled off some. She knew only a little of what happened with Lori, just enough to understand where he was coming from.

"So then what do you do?" She asked.

He took another sip and shrugged. "You remember that you can't change what's already done. You especially can't change what someone _else_ has already done. And you try to realize how lucky you are to have this chance. To be with someone you love. You might not get it again. Or you might lose it before you realized what you had." His jaw tightened as he finished the last dregs in his glass, his hand clutching the tumbler so tightly she thought it might break.

She reached out and rested her hand on his wrist. The muscles tightened further for a moment, then relaxed.

"You're right." She said.

They stayed quiet for a few more moments before she took back her hand and finished her drink as well.

"Now what do you say we tool around town a bit more. See what we find." She said.

He nodded at her, handed her a few bottles of booze. He collected the pistol and ammo. _No good dwelling on what was_. He reminded himself.

* * *

"Hey," Michonne's voice broke through Andrea's daze.

The blonde had been in their shed reading an old sci-fi novel she'd found in the storeroom, left behind by some long forgotten shop-keep. She'd been trying to re-read the same paragraph for a half hour, getting distracted every time her thoughts drifted to the fight with Mich that morning. She'd shed a few angry tears, feeling attacked by the one person she'd thought would always defend her.

She'd since realized what a silly thought that was. Of course they could disagree. Of course they could argue and still be all right. But it was the underlying subtext of the fight that had really bothered her.

Michonne stepped out of the mid-afternoon haze and into the shed, dropping onto the floor near Andrea. Andrea folded the corner of her page and tossed the book into the corner.

"Hi." She replied softly.

"Still mad at me?" Michonne asked.

"I'm not the one that lashed out." Andrea said, unable to keep some bitterness from her voice.

"Yeah, you're right." Michonne said. She dropped her eyes to the ground. Andrea regretted snapping immediately. She reached out and took Michonne's hand, pulling her back with her as she leaned against the wall. Michonne settled easily onto the woman's lap, her hands at Andrea's waist. Andrea ran her own hands leisurely up and down Michonne's thighs.

"I'm–"  
"I didn't–"

They both chuckled as they interrupted each other. Andrea looked up into her favourite pair of dark, brown eyes. "You first," she said.

Michonne curled a strand of blonde hair around the woman's ear.

"I'm sorry I overreacted this morning. I wasn't even that mad, or I _was_ but it was misplaced. Anyway, if you're patient with me, I want to try and leave all that behind. No sense dragging old business around."

"You mean like two walkers on leashes?" Andrea joked lightly.

Michonne narrowed her eyes but smirked anyway.

"Sorry." Andrea said with a laugh. "Couldn't resist."

"No, you often can't." Michonne chided as she leaned in close for a kiss. Her dreads fell loosely around them, bumping against Andrea's cheeks.

"Oh!" Andrea pulled back, pushing back the woman's hair. "I almost forgot. I have something for you."

Michonne sat back and looked at her inquisitively. Andrea began to move to upend them, to get up and get whatever it was she wanted, but Michonne sat firm and held her in place.

"Let _me_. I don't want you to move from this spot." She grinned down at her.

"Fine. It's over there, under the blanket." Andrea pointed to the back wall.

Unwilling to move much herself, Michonne leaned her body over, extending as much as she could without completely leaving Andrea's lap. Her fingers finally clutched the blanket and pulled it back. She grabbed what she found underneath and brought it back with her, resuming her position on Andrea's legs.

She flicked her gaze from the object to the blonde.

"Hawaiian print?" She held up the handkerchief, similar in width and make to the one she had been wearing the night Andrea had escaped Woodbury, but in a much louder, floral design.

Andrea rolled her eyes. "Hey! I worked with what I could find. You're welcome by the way. I thought you might want something to replace the one I drenched in blood."

Michonne leaned down and kissed the woman to stop her chattering mouth. She pulled back when they were suitably breathless.

"Thank you." She began tying the cloth around her head, the way she'd been doing for years, even before the end of the world. It held back her dreads more firmly, keeping them out of her face as she descended to Andrea's mouth again. She ran her hands over her shoulders, groping at her body like a lifeline.

Andrea, in turn, was kneading Michonne's thighs more firmly beneath her palms, sliding them around her body to bring them closer, pulling her by the ass.

Michonne began a trail of kisses away from the bright pink lips, down the length of her neck. Andrea keened.

"So what's this then," she gasped. "A little afternoon delight?"

"Shut up." Michonne chuckled against her throat.

* * *

**Additional Author's Note**: Is there a desire for more M-rated Michandrea scenes? I've been leaving this one more plot-focused and less about smut as my personal preference. I can always add that in or take some one-shot requests if that's preferred. Let me know your thoughts.

I also had a comment that this isn't an M fic. I don't know. I had Michonne chopping a man's limbs off and leaving him bloody and screaming in the prison yard. I think I'll leave the rating on for now.


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